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V 




The Spad and the Fokker approached each other head-on 

[Page 224] 



BOB THORPE 
SKY FIGHTER 

IN THE LAFAYETTE 
FLYING CORPS 

BY 

AUSTIN BISHOP 

ILLUSTRATED BY 

JOHN R. NEILL 



NEW YORK 

HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE 


1919 




COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE, INC. 



DEC 12 1919 


THE QUINN a BODEN COMPANY 
RAHWAY N J 


©CI.A559014 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 


I. 

Aviation — First, Last, and Always . 

3 

II. 

A German Spy at Camp Avord . 

19 

III. 

Bob Wins His Wings; George Disappears 

36 

IV. 

George Tries the Spinning Nose Dive 

52 

V. 

Bob Flies a Nieuport 

66 

VI. 

Pan at Last 

80 

VII. 

Acrobatics Above the Clouds . 

93 

VIII. 

Colonel Casale and the German Agents . 

108 

IX. 

Bound for the Front 

122 

X. 

Spad 98 

136 

XI. 

The Boys Have Their First Fight . 

151 

XII. 

One Boche Down 

163 

XIII. 

The French Launch an Attack . 

177 

XIV. 

Heavy Fighting 

193 

XV. 

More Heavy Fighting 

208 

XVI. 

Bob Carries a Spy to Germany . 

223 

XVII. 

Meyer Comes Back 

235 

XVIII. 

Meyer Reaches the End of His Rope 

250 

XIX. 

The Bad Weather Flying Club . 

262 






















FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 


PASS 

The Spad and the Fokker Approached Each Other 

Head On Frontispiece 

Diagram Illustrating “ Stunts” .... 101 

He Pulled Both Triggers 197 

Map of Verdun Sector after Attack of August, 

1917 231 














BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 




AVIATION— FIRST, LAST, AND ALWAYS 

“Well, I guess this makes pilots out of us,” 
said Bob Thorpe. 

“You bet it does,” replied George Morgan. 
“Our people can’t object to our going in aviation 
now. ’ ’ 

The two boys were standing in the yard of the 
deserted farmhouse that served as headquarters 
for the Thirty-fifth section of the American Ambu- 
lance. They were stationed near Verdun, and on 
three sides of them they could hear the dull thump 
of cannon fire. 

It was the Day of Days for these boys who had 
left their homes in America months before to go 
to France as volunteers in the Ambulance Service. 
The United States had just declared war on Ger- 
many. 

Robert Thorpe and George Morgan had been 
3 


4 . 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

in Europe nearly a year carrying wounded French 
soldiers, and during that time they had often dis- 
cussed what they would do when their own country 
declared war. It was aviation first, last, and 
always. There was no second choice with them. 
Had it not been for the objections offered by their 
fathers and mothers they would have enlisted long 
before in the Lafayette Escadrille, which was 
composed of American pilots in the French 
army. 

1 i I have a right to go on leave tomorrow, ’ ’ said 
Bob. “I wasn’t going because there’s so much 
work here. But perhaps now I’d better go to 
Paris and see about getting us into avia- 
tion.” 

“Go ahead and don’t lose any time about it,” 
George replied. 4 ‘ I can do double shift here while 
you’re away.” 

Gradually the excitement caused by our declara- 
tion of war died down. The boys began to drift 
away, either to bed or on their night trips for 
wounded soldiers. Bob went to the little room 
that served Captain Murray as an office. 

“Captain,” he said, “I’ve decided to take that 
leave.” 

“You’ve changed your mind rather suddenly, 
haven’t you?” Captain Murray looked at him 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 5 


sharply as though he were trying to read his 
mind. 

“Yes, sir. I decided after the news came. I 
probably shan’t come back. An ambulance is no 
sort of weapon to use on the Germans.” 

“What are you going in for?” 

“Flying.” 

“And George is going to do the same, I sup- 
pose ? ’ ’ Bob nodded. ‘ ‘ I couldn ’t imagine you two 
boys separated , 9 9 the Captain continued. ‘ ‘ Aren ’t 
you rather young for aviation?” 

“We are almost seventeen, sir, and the British 
say that some of the best pilots are only sixteen 
or seventeen.” 

“Perhaps you’re right. We will miss you two 
boys in the Section. When will George want to 
leave ? ’ ’ 

“Not until I find out what we can do about 
enlisting,” replied Bob. 

“Good. I’ll have your leave papers ready for 
you in the morning and George can drive you to 
the station at Souilly. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, sir,” said Bob. “Good-night.” 

“Good-night.” 

Bob went to the room where ten of the twenty 
volunteer ambulance drivers were quartered. 
Some of them were in bed and asleep, and others 


6 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

were undressing in the dim candlelight. He tip- 
toed over to George’s cot and awoke him. 

“It’s all fixed,” he whispered. “I’m leaving 
tomorrow morning and you are to drive me over 
to Souilly.” 

“Good work.” 

Bob undressed rapidly and slid into his cot. 
He was making himself comfortable when 
George reached over and prodded him in the 
ribs. 

“We are going to be aviators!” he exclaimed 
in an undertone. 

“You bet we are,” answered Bob. “We are 
going to be aces, too.” 

“We certainly are.” 

When Bob announced at breakfast the next 
morning that he was leaving the Section, he found 
himself bombarded with questions. Others di- 
vulged their plans. Some hoped to become avi- 
ators, some had a preference for artillery, and 
others wanted to go into infantry where they 
could fight the Germans hand to hand. None of 
them planned to stay in the Ambulance Serv- 
ice now that they had a chance for bigger 
game. 

“I’d stay,” said Bob, “if Captain Murray 
would let me take my Ford over the top and run 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 7 

down some Germans with it. He says that tires 
are too scarce and that they might get cut up on 
the barbed wire.” 

When it came time to leave, the boys piled 
Bob’s baggage in the back of his favorite ambu- 



lance — “Old Thirteen,” he called it. During the 
year he had been at the front he had driven it 
thousands of miles. Its gray body, hanging at 
a perilous angle over the rear axle, was punctured 
by a dozen stray bits of shrapnel, its hood was 
dented, and it bore numerous traces of emergency 
repairs. On the whole, it looked like a car that 
might give one last gasp and crumble in the 
road. However, since it had looked that way for 
months without ever failing him, Bob was not 
worried. “Lizzie’s heart is strong even if her 
teeth are falling out,” he explained. 


8 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

The trip to Paris seemed endless and unevent- 
ful. In order to lose no time he took a taxicab 
directly to the headquarters of the American Am- 
bulance Service. He left his baggage there and 
immediately began to seek out information on the 
subject of enlisting in aviation. 

Naturally enough, since war had been declared 
but two days before, there was no American avi- 
ation office. At the American Embassy they could 
give him no information. 

The next morning he had the good fortune to 
meet an elderly American who had lived for years 
in Paris and who was connected with the Ambu- 
lance Service. He suggested that Bob and George 
start their training in the French army. Then, 
he said, when the American Air Service arrived 
in France they would be licensed pilots and could 
go into action under their own flag. The French 
authorities had offered to enlist a certain number 
of Americans with that understanding and the 
Americans had already grouped themselves under 
the name Lafayette Flying Corps. 

It seemed to be their only chance for immediate 
training, and Bob wanted to enlist at once. He 
found that there were many formalities to be 
gone through before he could become a student 
pilot. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 9 


In the first place he was given a severe physical 
examination. His heart and eyes were examined 
with special care, for, they explained to him, a 
pilot whose heart and eyes are not good is no 
pilot at all. The doctor pronounced him perfect 
physically and he was sent to another office where 
he filled out various papers. 

“Age, please ?” said the clerk. 

“ Sixteen,’ ’ Bob replied. 

“ Sixteen !” exclaimed the clerk. “Why, that’s 
rather young.” He paused in his writing and 
then added, “But if they accept you at the avi- 
ation office it ’s all right with us. ’ ’ 

The aviation office was closed by the time Bob 
arrived. The next thing to do was to write a 
letter to George. 

“Dear George,” he wrote. “Say good-bye to 'Old 
Thirteen’ for me — kiss her on the broken radiator — and 
come at once. (The words “at once” were heavily 
underscored.) Hurry!!! Run, walk, swim, or crawl 
if you have to, but get here as soon as you can. Sooner 
if possible. I’ll tell you all about it when you arrive. 
Everything is fixed. Bring the kit-bag that I left by 
your cot. 

“Yours, 

“Bob.” 


The next morning Bob was at the aviation office 


10 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

when it opened. He presented his papers and was 
directed to the office of a young Captain. 

“ Another American, eh?” said the Captain. 
“Won’t you sit down? You Americans come to 
me instead of the Colonel because I speak Eng- 
lish. ’ ’ 

“Are there many Americans flying with the 
French?” asked Bob. 

“About one hundred,” answered the Captain. 
“We won’t be able to take many more.” 

The Captain glanced through the papers Bob 
had brought from the other office. “Sixteen!” 
he exclaimed. ‘ ‘ Sixteen is entirely too young, my 
boy.” Then, as he saw Bob’s look of disappoint- 
ment, he added, “As a matter of fact, we allow 
a good bit of leeway in the matter of age. Flying 
requires nerve and aptitude, not age. You prob- 
ably have the nerve. I see that you are wearing 
the War Cross.” He pointed to the striped rib- 
bon that Bob wore on his khaki Ambulance uni- 
form. 

“Would you mind telling me how you got it?” 
the Captain asked. 

“Oh, it was given to me at Verdun. I just hap- 
pened to be in a tight place and I was lucky enough 
to get out.” 

The Captain made a note on a piece of paper 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 11 

and touched a bell. A messenger entered, took 
the note, and departed. 

“Now for the question of aptitude. Tell me 
something about yourself. What makes you think 
that you would make a good pilot?” 

“I am sure I would like it,” said Boh, “and 
I suppose that helps quite a hit.” Bob felt that 
to be a lame reason for seeking admission to the 
most elite branch of service in the war. However, 
it was about the best he could do. 

“We must be very careful,” the Captain ex- 
plained, “in selecting men for training. Time is 
valuable and the training costs a great deal. It 
costs us nearly thirty thousand francs to put a 
pilot on the front.” 

Bob computed the francs in dollars and found 
that it amounted to nearly six thousand dollars. 

“Have you ever played baseball?” asked the 
Captain. 

“Yes, indeed.” 

Bob wondered what that question might have 
to do with enlisting in aviation. 

“What position?” 

“Shortstop, more than anything else.” 

“What other games have you played?” 

“Football, tennis, hockey, and a little golf.” 

“Can you ride a horse?” 


12 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Ride a bicycle?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Ever drive an automobile fast?” 

“As fast as it would go, sir.” 

“That is good,” said the Captain. “We want 
young fellows who like sports and who are not 
afraid of taking chances. You will have to take 
many a chance in aviation. Flying is no parlor 
pastime, you know.” 

At that moment the messenger entered the room 
and laid a note on the Captain’s desk. The Cap- 
tain took it up and read it. 

“I think you will do,” he said. Bob’s heart 
gave a leap. “I had them telephone to the War 
Office for the citation on which you received your 
Croix de Guerre.” Then he read aloud the fa- 
miliar words of the citation : 

“ ‘ Robert Thorpe, American volunteer ambulance 
driver, has always displayed the utmost bravery and 
courage in the performance of his duty. During the 
afternoon of December 11th, he entered the city of 
Verdun in his ambulance and, in company with George 
Morgan, another American volunteer, rescued four 
wounded officers from a house that was being shelled 
by the enemy. After reaching the hospital with his 
wounded he volunteered to re-enter the city of Verdun 
in company with the above-mentioned George Morgan. 
On this trip they rescued seven wounded officers.’ ” 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 13 


The Captain smiled and said, ‘ 4 Yon ’ll do. I 
thought you wouldn’t want to tell me why you 
were given the War Cross — men who do things 
never like to talk about themselves. We will be 
glad to have you in aviation, Robert Thorpe. We 
always need men with nerve.” 

He signed his name in several places on the en- 
listment papers. 

“What branch of flying would you like to take 
up?” asked the Captain. 

“I want to fight,” said Bob. 

“That is combat flying, or chasse , as we say in 
French. Aviation is divided into combat, night 
and day bombing, and observation. Each branch 
requires special training on certain types of ma- 
chines. You will like combat work best, I’m 
sure. It means that you will fly the fastest 
machines and that you can fly and fight to 
your heart’s content. I was in a combat 
squadron.” 

Bob wondered why he had left the front with 
all its excitement to be shut up in an office, far 
from aeroplanes. The Captain saw the look of 
inquiry in his eyes and explained. “You see,” 
he said, swinging around in his chair so that 
Bob could see his legs. “I’m not much good for 
active service any more.” One of his legs was 


14 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

stiff and straight. 4 'Such things are bound to 
happen in war,” he sighed. "You realize that, 
don’t you?” 

"Yes, sir.” 

"And you are willing to fight your hardest even 
when the odds are against you?” 

"Yes, sir.” 

' 'Very well. Sign your name here . ’ 9 

The big moment had come. Bob took the pen 
and signed. 

"And now you are a student pilot,” said the 
Captain. He put out his hand. "I’ll not wish 
you good luck, for, among French pilots, that is 
supposed to bring bad luck. I’ll just wish you 
all the success in the world.” 

"Thank you, Captain,” said Bob. He felt a 
genuine liking for this young officer who had suf- 
fered so much and who was so splendid about it. 
"And there is something else, Captain,” he added. 
"George Morgan — the one who is mentioned in 
the citation — is coming to Paris to enlist. We 
would like to go to the same school if it is pos- 
sible. We have been pals for a long time and we 
don’t want to lose each other.” 

"In that case,” replied the Captain, "you had 
better wait here in Paris for him. I will give you 
four days in which to report to the school and 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 15 

that will allow you to go together. You are go- 
ing, by the way, to Camp Avord, which is the 
best school in all France.’ ’ He made a notation 
on the papers and handed them to Bob. “Take 
these to the address I have written and they will 
give you your papers and your railroad ticket. 
Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye, sir, and thank you.” 

“Not at all. And, by the way, before you 
change over to the American Air Service you 
might like to get a little experience at the front 
in a French squadron. If you should decide to 
do that, just let me know and I’ll see that you 
are sent to my old bunch — Spad 98.” 

Bob had heard of the Spad machines. They 
were the fastest in all Europe and they were noted 
for the feats performed in them. He was so elated 
at the Captain’s generosity that he could scarcely 
thank him. He was thrilled at the thought of 
roaming about the skies in a Spad, hunting for 
Germans. 

They shook hands and Bob left the office, going 
directly to the address the Captain had written 
on the slip of paper. Within half an hour every- 
thing was completed and he walked to the hotel 
proud in the thought that he was a student pilot 
at last. True enough, he had never been in an 


16 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

aeroplane, but, nevertheless, he was a student 
pilot. The papers in his pocket said as much. 

He went to one of the large stores, where he 
bought a dark blue uniform such as he saw pilots 
wearing. It seemed strange that he, an American, 
should be buying a French uniform. 

Bob made his first appearance in his blue uni- 
form to greet George. As he walked along the 
street toward the station he was stopped by a 
Canadian soldier whose face was a study in per- 
plexity. He was unmistakably lost in the strange 
city of Paris. 

“ Pour allez . . . ,” the Canadian commenced, 
trying his best to talk French to Bob, who ap- 
peared to be a Frenchman. “Pour allez Place 
Opera he finally managed to say. 

For a moment Bob looked at him as though his 
French ears were pained to hear his language 
so slaughtered, and then his face broke into a 
smile. 

“Your pronunciation is punk,” he said. “Do 
you think it would be easier for you if you talked 
American?” 

The Canadian’s jaw fell and he stared. Finally 
he managed to exclaim, “Say, fellow, where did 
you spring from? Where did you learn that 
lingo?” 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 17 


“Oh, I was in America once,” Bob answered 
lightly. “As a matter of fact I was born there.” 

“Are yon an American?” 

4 ‘ Sure thing. ’ 9 

“Gosh, I’m glad I found you. I’m lost.” 

4 ‘ I thought you were. ’ ’ 

“Yes, sir, I’ve been lost for two hours, chasing 
around like a dog after its own tail trying to 
find this Place Opera . Do you know where 
it is?” 

“Yes, I’m going that way. Come along.” 

They walked along through several narrow 
streets that took them to a boulevard and to the 
Place de 1’ Opera, the square in the center of Paris 
from which many of the most important streets 
radiate. 

‘ ‘ That is the Opera over there, ’ ’ explained Bob, 
pointing to a massive stone building. 

“Some theater!” exclaimed the Canadian. “I 
thought it was the city hall.” 

The Canadian knew his way from there, and so 
Bob left him and went to the station. He arrived 
just in time to meet the train on which he ex- 
pected George. 

There was George, staggering under the weight 
of two big kit-bags. Bob made no sign of welcome. 
He just waited quietly, wondering how long it 


18 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

would take for George to recognize him in his 
French uniform. George approached nearer and 
nearer and then his eyes fell on Bob. He stopped 
short, letting both kit-bags drop to the ground. 
“Holy smoke !” he exclaimed. 



2 



A GERMAN SPY AT CAMP AVORD 

“The mail has come.” 

The cry echoed through the long barracks at 
Camp Avord, where the American boys who were 
training with the French Flying Corps were 
quartered. 

“How much! ” 

“Where is it!” 

“When will it be delivered!” 

“Who told you so!” 

The news of the delayed mail was joyfully and 
noisily received. It had been raining for three 
days, making flying impossible, and the boys were 
chafing under the lack of excitement. There had 
been nothing to do, aside from attending lectures 
on the theory of flying, and the wild spirit of 
student pilots does not stand inactivity gracefully. 

“Let’s get out of this,” said Bob to George 
19 


20 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

when they found that the mail would not be de- 
livered before an hour. They had been sitting on 
the edge of George’s cot talking. 

They put on their coats and went out into the 
drizzle of rain. The long gray buildings of Camp 
Avord seemed to be in a sea of black mud. It 
was one of the largest aviation schools in the 
world, and during good weather there was scarcely 
a moment of the day or night when the roar of 
aeroplanes could not be heard. But when bad 
weather came the life at the school ended abruptly. 
The hundreds of machines were swallowed up in 
the jaws of the immense hangars ; mechanics, stu- 
dents, and instructors all disappeared in their 
barracks. 

“We might go up to the hangars,” George sug- 
gested. 

By staying close to the little gravel paths they 
managed to avoid the black mud that clung to 
everything it touched as though it were composed 
largely of glue. They entered a hangar where 
the machines used by the most advanced classes 
were kept. 

“Look at those Nieuport machines!” exclaimed 
Bob. “Oh, won’t I be glad when they give me 
one of those and tell me to fly away!” 

The boys had been at Avord one month and 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 21 


they were still in the “double control’ ’ class. In 
other words, they were flying with an instructor, 
who allowed them to pilot the machine but who 
could take the controls himself in case of necessity. 
Had the rain not interrupted their training they 
would have been flying alone, for they had nearly 
completed the preliminary instruction. 

“And look at that machine!” shouted George. 
“What sort is it?” 

It was a small, solidly built aeroplane, beauti- 
ful in its lines and powerful in appearance. They 
ran over and investigated it from the tips of its 
propeller to the end of its tail. Finally they were 
rewarded by finding a small nameplate bearing 
the letters S. P. A. D. 

“It’s a Spad,” said Bob. There was a note of 
reverence in his voice. “It’s a Spad, sure 
enough. ’ ’ 

It seemed a privilege for a student pilot even 
to touch a Spad — the machine that carried 
Guynemer, Fonck, and all the other French aces 
through their glorious battles. Lufbery — “Luf,” 
the idol of all the men in the Lafayette Flying 
Corps — had brought fame to the Lafayette Esca- 
drille in his Spad. 

“It belongs to Captain Le Comte,” said Bob. 
Captain Le Comte was the commanding officer 


22 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

of the school. “I heard one of the instructors 
saying several days ago that he had gone to Paris 
to get a Spad.” 

“He must have flown back in it just before the 
rain came, ,, replied George. “Look at the places 
for machine guns over the engine. Two of ’em. 
They must send out bullets like a hose squirts 
water. ’ ’ 

They inspected the machine for nearly half an 
hour before they withdrew to a secluded corner of 
the hangar to continue the conversation that had 
been interrupted by the announcement of mail. 

“We should hear from home today,’ ’ said 
George. They had not as yet received answers 
to the letters they had written to their homes 
about joining the Lafayette Flying Corps. “I 
hope our people will understand why we’re in the 
French army. I’m afraid they may think it’s 
funny we ’ve gone with the French instead of wait- 
ing until we could get into our own flying corps.” 

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll understand,” said Bob. 
“They know how much we want to get to the 
front, and this means that we’ll get there sooner. 
I told my folks that we’d change over to the 
American army just as soon as possible.” 

They sat quietly in the corner, each wondering 
what the mail would bring. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 23 


Suddenly they heard the door at the other end 
of the hangar open. They looked up in time to 
see a man enter and close the door behind him. 

He appeared to be one of the civilian laborers 
employed about the school, perhaps a Spaniard, 
imported to do the heavy work in a country where 
every able-bodied man was in active military serv- 
ice. He was evidently excited and there was some- 
thing so suspicious in his movements that Bob 
clutched George’s arm as a signal to be quiet. 

The man stood still for a moment and then, 
apparently satisfied that he was alone, began mak- 
ing his way through the maze of machines to the 
center of the hangar. He stopped near the Spad 
and again looked around. The boys crouched 
down in their hiding place. 

He sat on the floor, his back to them, and at 
once began working on one of the wings of the 



24 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Spad. They saw him cut the fabric on the lower 
side of the wing with his kijfe and then pull 
from his pocket a tiny saw which he inserted in 
the cut. It was evident that he planned to weaken 
the wings of the machine so that whoever piloted 
it on its next flight — probably Captain Le Comte 
— would be killed. 

The boys were puzzled as to what they should 
do. If they made the least noise he would escape, 
for he was much nearer the door. The sound of 
his sawing was not great enough to keep him 
from hearing them if they tried to get around 
to the door and trap him. 

Bob began taking off his shoes and motioned 
to George to do the same. When they were both 
in their stocking feet they stood up. 

Bob took the lead. Every time the saw tore 
into the delicate framework of the Spad they took 
a step — just one step — working along the wall be- 
hind him. Once he paused in his sawing nearly a 
minute, and the boys stood motionless, scarcely 
daring to breathe. When, at last, he began saw- 
ing, they continued their slow, hesitating course 
toward the door. 

They had covered a little more than half the 
distance when the man suddenly stood up. He 
had completed his work, apparently, for he hur- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 25 


riedly gathered up his tools as though he were 
about to leave. 

Realizing that the moment for action had come, 
Bob screamed at the top of his voice. Just as he 
had planned, the man was so stiff with surprise 
that he could not move for a moment. 

Bob rushed for the door and reached it first. 
He was preparing to tackle when the man pulled 
out a knife. Realizing that he would be stabbed 
unless he changed his tactics, Bob sidestepped 
and caught him on the point of the chin with his 
fist. Before the man could regain his balance 
George was blocking the door in Bob’s place. 

He struck out savagely at George with his knife, 
but a blow from Bob knocked his arm to one side. 
The man swung around; George caught his wrist 
and Bob tackled. His right shoulder caught him 
just above the knees and they crashed down on 
the concrete floor. The knife fell from his hand, 
and as the boys started to pin him down they 
realized that he was limp. 

“Stunned,” said Bob briefly. “Guess he hit 
his head on the floor.” 

They were taking no chances, however, and 
George held him while Bob went in search of 
some cord. He returned presently with cord and 
the shoes they had left behind. After binding his 


26 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

hands and feet they put on their shoes, and then 
found a pail of water. Their methods of reviving 
a stunned man probably would not be approved 
in a hospital. They simply dumped the entire 
bucket of water over his head. 

He awoke spluttering and wrenching at the 
cords that held him. 

“Ach, Gott!” he exclaimed. 

‘ ‘ German ! ’ ’ The word fairly exploded on Bob ’s 
lips. 

“No, you young pigs, I’m not German!” the 
man shouted in perfect English. He began to 
struggle, and the boys were forced to sit on him 
until he subsided. 

“Will you come along with us quietly?” Bob 
asked. 

“No!” he roared. 

“Oh, very well. Make just as much trouble as 
you want. ’ 7 Bob took a grip on his shoulder that 
made him squeal with pain. 

“Now will you come with us?” 

“No!” 

Bob tightened his grip. 

“Yes, I’ll do as you say,” he gasped finally. 
“Oh, you American pigs, I will kill you.” 

“You wouldn ’t kill us today, would you ? ’ ’ asked 
George soothingly. “Not today.” 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 27 

“Get up,” commanded Bob. They helped him 
to his feet and Bob made a tourniquet around his 
wrists. He tightened it until the man winced and 
then he said, “If you make a move to get away 
I ’ll tighten this until your wrists break.” He 
gave the tourniquet a little twist, as a sample. 
“Do you understand?” 

“Yes.” 

When the cord had been removed from his feet 
they left the hangar, George walking at his side, 
clinging to an elbow, and Bob walking behind 
with both hands on the tourniquet. The strange 
procession made its way to the office of the school. 

The office was in an uproar at once. Finally 
Lieutenant Cassel, the interpreter, was found and 
the boys told their story. He gave orders that a 
guard be called and hurried into the office of 
Captain Le Comte. 

The Captain, erect, a soldier every inch of him, 
appeared presently. As he entered the room the 
chatter of the clerks died down and they stood 
silently at attention. He coolly looked the man 
over from his head to his feet before he spoke. 

“Votre nom ? — Your name?” 

The man refused to answer; his lips were 
pressed tightly together. 

“Tres bien — very well,” said the Captain. He 


28 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

seemed to be the least concerned person in the 
room. A guard appeared and took the prisoner 
away. 

“The Captain asks me to thank you for the 
good work you have done this afternoon,’ ’ Lieu- 
tenant Cassel said to the hoys. “The man will 
be examined tomorrow by Secret Service men 
who will come from Paris for that purpose.” 

When Bob and George reached the barracks, 
the other Americans immediately surrounded 
them and tried to get the full story, but the only 
story they would tell was brief. They were 
anxious to get their mail. 

“Letter from home!” exclaimed Bob. 

“Same here,” answered George. 

There was a moment of silence as they read 
their letters and then Bob said, “Listen to this, 
George: ‘Your mother and I understand perfectly 
your anxiety to get to the front and under the 
circumstances we approve of the step you have 
taken. Of course, we would prefer, as you your- 
self prefer, to have you with our own troops. 
However, there is no time to be lost. The most 
important thing now is to give the Hun the beat- 
ing of his life. We are proud of you.’ Bully for 
Dad!” 

“And listen to what my father says!” George 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 29 


exclaimed. “ ‘If I were your age I would do the 
same thing. Go to it. Fight hard.’ ” 

They were reading their letters for the second 
time, when one of the student pilots who was 
standing near the window said, ‘ ‘ Say, you fellows, 
this storm is breaking up. There won’t be any 
flying tonight, but I’ll bet we get in the air tomor- 
row morning.” 

There was a general rush to the windows. In 
the gray sky there were small patches of blue. 
The storm that had kept them confined to their 
quarters for three days was passing. 

The next morning at three o’clock they 
were awakened by the familiar cry, “Cafe! 
cafe!” It was the Chinaman — “Wild Bill,” 
they called him — bearing a 
large pot of strong, black 
coffee. The students produced 
cups, hunks of dark war bread 
and cans of condensed milk, 
and waited for “Wild Bill” 
as he came down the line of 
cots. 

“I never thought I would 
have to go away to war to have 
breakfast in bed,” remarked a 
new student. 




30 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“It is because we are the petted darlings of 
the war, ’ ’ explained one of the older men. ‘ 4 Every 
Tuesday the Captain comes around with candy for 
us, and on Friday— on Friday he brings us 
flowers.” 

A laugh went up from those who heard his re- 
mark. There was no more strict soldier in the 
French army than Captain Le Comte. 

By the time the first traces of dawn were in 
the sky the boys were dressed. They found seats 
in the truck for the Caudron field. 

The Caudron machine on which the boys were 
receiving their training is a light, low-powered 
biplane. It was used largely for training students 
who were going to drive the combat machines, for 
it had the stick control rather than the wheel, 
which is commonly used on bombing and observa- 
tion planes. Its motor was the radial type An- 
zani, or, for the more advanced classes, the rotary 
motors known as the Gnome and the Rhone. 

“If I am lucky Carron will let me make my 
solo this morning,” remarked Bob. Carron was 
his instructor and he had told him that he would 
allow him to make his first flight alone — his solo 
flight, as it is called — at the next class if his 
progress was satisfactory. 

“I have four or five hops to make yet,” re- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 31 


plied George. A “hop” is a flight, regardless of 
whether it be a flight of two minutes or a flight 
across the Atlantic. 

When the truck stopped, the boys jumped out 
and went inside the hangars. There they divided 
into classes, each class taking its machine and 
pushing it out. Mechanics started the motors and 
the machines were taxied out on the field. 

The Chief Pilot, who was in command, made 
his observations on the wind and general weather 
conditions, and decided on the course to be flown. 
Mechanics and students all gave a hand to plac- 
ing a large letter T, made of canvas, on the 
ground. From the air the “T” looks like a big 
white aeroplane and it is the most strict rule of 
the flying field that all machines must land in ac- 
cordance with this signal. It is unforgivable to 
land contrary to the “T,” for by so doing the 
pilot endangers his own life and the lives of 
others. 

Just as soon as the “T” was correctly placed 
the students hurried back to where their machines 
were waiting. Bob and the four other boys who 
were in his class — George was in another class — 
found their instructor, Carron, inspecting the 
machine on which they were to make their 
flights. 


32 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Carron pulled from his pocket a little black 
book in which he kept account of the work done by 
his students. 

“ Let’s see, Thorpe,” he said, “how much time 
you’ve had in the air.” He made some calcula- 
tions and said, “Twelve hours and thirty minutes. 
That isn’t very much, hut I think you’re about 
ready to he turned loose. We will go around twice 
more and then I’ll let you go it alone.” 

Bob’s heart gave a leap. The time for the solo 
hop was in sight at last. 

He pulled on his black leather flying coat and 
helmet, and climbed into the rear seat of the ma- 
chine. Carron took his place in the front seat. 
They fastened across their stomachs belts with 
catches that could be opened by a slight tap in case 
of accident. 

“I’m just a passenger,” shouted Carron above 
the roar of the motor. “I shall not even touch 
the controls.” To show Boh that he was keeping 
his word he put his hands on the edge of the 
cockpit. 

Bob pulled the throttle toward him; the motor 
roared and a blast of wind from the propeller 
hit them. Gradually the machine gathered speed. 
Bob pressed forward on the stick control, causing 
the tail of the aeroplane to rise, and then when 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 33 

flying speed was reached he pulled hack gently. 
The aeroplane rose a little, touched the ground 
once or twice, and started to climb. 

When they reached an altitude of about five 
hundred feet, Bob reduced his motor and put the 
machine in “line of flight’ ’ — its normal flying po- 
sition. Pushing lightly with his right foot on the 
rudder bar and putting the stick a little to the 
right, he brought the machine about in a graceful 
curve and skirted the end of the field. 

Carron seemed quite unconcerned over the fact 
that he was being piloted by an inexperienced 
student. He began singing and beating time on 
the edge of the cockpit with his hands. Stray 
bits of his song — “Madelon” — drifted back to 
Bob through the noise of the motor. Carron idly 
turned his head, watching the country as it slid 
under them. His lack of nervousness inspired 
confidence in Bob. 

“I must be a regular fellow if Carron is no more 
worried than that,” he thought to himself, as he 
turned the machine again. 

That was exactly what Carron wanted him to 
think. Carron did not feel like singing — it was 
too early in the morning for song — and he was 
considerably more watchful than Bob thought. 
His actions were deliberately intended to inspire 


34 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

confidence. Had Bob made the slightest mis- 
movement Carron would have pounced on the con- 
trols in a flash to correct him before the mistake 
could become serious. Instructing young pilots 
was an exact and scientific business with Carron ; 
singing and watching the scenery was simply a 
part of the business. 

Another turn brought them in line with the 
landing field. Carefully judging his distance Bob 
closed the throttle and pointed the nose of the 
machine down. That moment in flying is known 
as “going over the hump,” and Bob still experi- 
enced the sensation of being in an elevator that 
had suddenly dropped. 




The absence of noise from the motor and the 
rush of wind past the wires and struts gave Bob 
a peculiar feeling of loneliness. The great white 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 35 

“T” and the machines on the ground grew larger 
and larger as they swept down. 

Bob realized that within a fraction of a minute 
he would be landing the machine, and landing is 
the most difficult part of flying. He began to feel 
a little nervous. Carron, however, was gazing in 
another direction with a great show of unconcern. 

It seemed as though they were stationary and 
that the ground was approaching them, faster and 
faster. One hundred feet, seventy-five, fifty . . . 
Bob pulled gently on the stick, bringing the ma- 
chine into line of flight just above the ground. It 
was a breathless moment as he held it, skimming 
over the grass. A slight waver told him that 
they were losing speed. He pulled the stick back 
still farther and for a moment the machine seemed 
to pause. Then it settled gently on its wheels and 
tail skid, and came to a stop. It was a perfect 
landing. 



BOB WINS HIS WINGS; GEORGE 
DISAPPEARS 


Bob was ready for his “solo hop.” He pulled 
his helmet down over his head, went to his ma- 
chine and inspected it as Carron had taught him. 
Then he climbed in, wondering whether his French 
would be equal to the strain of carrying on the 
conversation necessary in starting the motor. He 
fastened the belt securely, put his feet on the rud- 
der bar, and pulled the stick back between his legs. 

This was adventure, thought Boh, as he peered 
around the nose of his machine to see if the me- 
chanics were ready. He was a trifle excited and 
nervous, but he was enjoying every minute of it. 

“Coupe — contact off,” called the mechanic. 

“ Coupe Bob responded. 

The mechanic grasped the propeller and turned 
the motor over to draw fresh gas into the 
cylinders. 


36 



BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 37 

“Contact,” called the mechanic. Bob pressed 
the contact button. 

“Contact.” 

The mechanic gave another wrench at the pro- 
peller, and the motor started. Bob signaled to 
the mechanics to withdraw the blocks of wood in 
front of his wheels, and then, with one mechanic 
hanging to the right wing, he turned the ma- 
chine in its own length so that it was facing into 
the wind. 

When the mechanics were clear of the machine 
he pulled open the throttle. It was a breathless 
moment as he felt the aeroplane clearing the 
ground, but just as soon as he was in the air he 
felt perfectly at home. All nervousness left him. 
He was alone in the air ! Flying alone ! He gave 
a shout of delight, but the shout was lost in the 
noise of the motor. 

Fields slid under him. A farmhouse glided 
past. When he tried looking at it he found that 
his machine resented the liberty he was taking 
and was “trying to stand on its ear.” He de- 
cided that he had better pay less attention to the 
scenery and more to his machine. 

It became time to turn, and so he banked his 
machine to the right, turning gracefully. Sud- 
denly it struck him that the landscape was un- 


38 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

familiar. He looked about wildly for the hangars 
and for the field, but they were nowhere to be 
seen. For a moment he was panic-stricken. 
Where was he! Where had he flown in those few 
minutes! 

i 

Ahead of him he saw a village. Was it Avord! 
No, it could not be Avord, he decided, because 
there was no church steeple. He craned around 
trying to find some familiar landmark, and as he 
did so his plane tilted to the right and began to 
turn. 

From under his right wing the field and the 
hangars slowly emerged. It dawned on him that 
he had not turned far enough the first time and 
that he had been vainly searching for a place that 
had been neatly hidden under his wing. 

“Fool!” he exclaimed. Later he told George 
that he would have kicked himself had it been 
physically possible in an aeroplane. 

He turned the machine into the field and “put 
it over the hump.” For a moment he wished that 
he had Carron in the front seat, but that feeling 
passed as the ground came nearer. 

“Steady, boy, steady,” he said to himself. The 
ground seemed to be coming up at a frightful rate. 
He pulled on his stick and the machine came to 
flying level, and then another pull brought it down 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 39 

to the ground. He landed a little on one wheel 
and bounced several times before the machine 
finally came to a stop. He was really surprised 
that he had landed so easily, for, after all, it had 
not been a bad landing. 

Once again he went into the air and around the 
field. This time, however, he took good care that 
he did not become lost. The second landing was 
better, and he felt elated as he taxied up to the 
hangars. 

“The Chief says you did all right,” announced 
a mechanic who was acting as interpreter. “The 
first time you went too far away and landed on 
one wheel, he says, but the second time you landed 
like an ace. ’ 9 

“Ask him if I can go up again/ ’ said Bob. 
[Willingly would he have obeyed orders to fly the 
rest of the morning. 

“No,” replied the interpreter, after asking the 
question. “He says that you have had enough 
flying for the morning and that you should go get 
breakfast and turn in. He says you can take five 
hops tonight.” 

When he waved to George it was with both 
arms. George responded in semaphore code, 
1 ‘ C-o-n-g-r-a-t-u-l-a-t-i-o-n-s . 9 9 


40 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Bob semaphored back, “G-o-i-n-g t-o b-r-e-a-k- 
f-a-s-t. H-u-r-r-y u-p. ’ ’ 

When George arrived at the little restaurant 
where some of the boys had breakfast every morn- 
ing after flying, he found Bob sitting in front of 
an omelette and a large bowl of cafe-au-lait, eat- 
ing and at the same time enjoying a French lesson. 
Madame, who ran the restaurant while her hus- 
band and four sons were away at the front, made 
favorites of the American boys at Camp Avord. 

She had good-naturedly refused to serve Bob 
a thing until he ordered his breakfast in perfect 
French. Under her instruction he finally managed 
not only to say the words but to connect them in 
a sentence. Then, giving him a motherly hug, 
she set about preparing breakfast, while he sat 
on the kitchen table telling her, in broken phrases, 
accompanied by many gestures to make up for 
missing words, of his adventures during the morn- 
ing. 

She served his breakfast in a little walled gar- 
den where vines and flowers grew in profusion, 
and it was there that George found him. 

‘ ‘ Good work, Bob,” he said. “I was watching 
you every minute/ ’ 

Breakfast finished, they said good-bye to Ma- 
dame and started for the barracks. It was shortly 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 41 


after ten o’clock in the morning when they un- 
dressed and tumbled into bed. 

Life at Avord was topsy-turvy. The day began 
before dawn and at eight o’clock, when the heat 
of the day began to be felt, flying was stopped. 
The currents in the air caused by heat are dan- 
gerous for inexperienced pilots, and for that rea- 
son the flying at training schools is usually done 
in the morning and evening. During the day the 
students and instructors at Avord slept. Dinner 
was served at three o’clock and at four there was 
general muster and roll-call in front of Captain 
Le Comte’s office. By five they were all on the 
flying fields again. Flying continued until dusk 
and by ten the school was quiet, except for the 
aeroplanes piloted by students who were learn- 
ing night flying. 

That afternoon at muster Captain Le Comte ad- 
dressed the pilots. The boys could not understand 
what he said, but they saw the eyes of the school 
fastened on them. When the Captain finished 
speaking, the interpreter translated. 

“The Captain desires to congratulate you most 
heartily,” he said to them, “on the good work 
you did yesterday in capturing a notorious char- 
acter in the German Secret Service. According 
to the detectives who arrived from Paris this 


42 


1 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

morning, the man’s name is Meyer. Meyer, who 
posed as a Swiss, disappeared from Paris five 
months ago just as he was about to be arrested. 
Being able to speak several languages perfectly, 
among them Spanish, he found it possible to hide 
here as a Spanish laborer until it appeared safe 
for him to continue his work. Our Secret Service 
considers that the capture is of the greatest im- 
portance, and Colonel Casale, of that department, 
has telegraphed his congratulations to Robert 
Thorpe and George Morgan, American Student 
Pilots.” 

Two weeks later both Bob and George were 
ready for their license tests. Armed with map 
cases in which there were long strips of maps 
that wound over two rollers, they studied every 
detail of their first cross-country flight. The first 
test was a flight of about an hour to the city of 
Chateauroux, where they were to land on the field 
of a smaller aviation school, have their papers 
signed, and return to Avord. 

When the morning came for the boys to take 
their first test, Carron was called over to give 
them their instructions. He pointed out on the 
map all the landmarks they would find along the 
way. 

“Fly at about three thousand feet,” he told 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 43 


them. “If you get lost, don’t go on flying until 
your gasoline gives out. Hunt for a good place 
and land. Then explain to someone that you are 
lost — perdu is the word — and get them to point out 
on your map where you are. If you are near 
enough home you can fly back, otherwise telephone 
to the school.” 

George took off first and hovered over the field 
until Bob came up to meet him. They started off 
in the direction of Bourges, feeling a little strange 
flying so far away from the field about which they 
had made their practice flights. The smooth road 
that ran from Avord to Bourges lay like a silver 
strip beneath them, and ahead they could see the 
smoke of the city rising in a gray column. 

The spires of the beautiful cathedral of Bourges 
seemed like little sticks in the ground. Bob 
laughed when he remembered reading in a guide- 
book that tourists climbed high in those spires to 
get a “view of the country.” There was Bob 
Thorpe, a modern tourist, enjoying a modern view 
of the country. 

The red brick buildings that were the first land- 
marks were soon under him and he veered off to 
the left. George was following close behind. Then 
he began searching the ground for the railroad 
tracks. There they were, just as they were placed 


44 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

on the map — a long black strip with what appeared 
to be two shiny wires set in its surface. Again 
Bob banked to the left. George pulled his ma- 
chine alongside and they waved to each other. 

In the distance they saw a black thing that 
finally became a bridge. It was all just as Carron 
had described. Following their maps carefully, 
they flew straight along over the bridge and 
toward Issoudun, where, within a few months, con- 
struction was to be started on the largest Ameri- 
can aviation school in Europe. 

Eventually the city of Chateauroux appeared 
in the distance. As they came closer they dis- 
covered the aviation school, with its gray build- 
ings and its white “T” on the field. They came 
down, losing altitude in sweeping spiral turns. 
Taking his landing direction from the “T,” Bob 
entered the field and landed near the hangars. 
George followed him and within a minute came 
taxi-ing over to where Bob’s machine stood. 

4 4 Hello, Pilot Thorpe,” he shouted. 

4 ‘Get away from me with that 1 pilot’ stuff,” 
answered Bob. “ You’ll put the jinx on me. Wait 
until I get my wings.” 

While the mechanics were filling their machines 
with oil and gasoline for their return flights, they 
sauntered over to the office, where they had their 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 45 


papers stamped and signed. When they returned 
they found their machines ready and they took 
off at once. 

It was a hot morning and the currents caused 
by the heat tossed them about unmercifully. They 
went up to a higher altitude as fast as their ma- 
chines would climb and they breathed a sigh of 
relief when they reached smooth air. When, at 
last, the old, familiar Caudron field appeared 
ahead of them they set their teeth for a battle 
with rough air, went “over the hump ,, and down. 
The heat waves tossed them about furiously, sev- 
eral times sending them forward until their belts 
were taut. 

“I feel as though I were a milk shake,’ ’ said 
Bob. 

That evening they took their altitude test, which 
was a flight of at least one hour above six thousand 
feet. The following morning they made another 
trip to Chateauroux. 

Only the two triangle flights remained to be 
done before they could call themselves pilots and 
wear wings on their collars. The triangles were 
the final tests in the French army for the license. 
The course was triangular in shape, each leg 
amounting to about an hour’s flight. 

The course over which Bob and George were to 


46 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

fly took them first to Chateauroux, then to Romo- 
rantin, and then back to Avord. The second tri- 
angle was simply the reverse route of the first. 

The first triangle passed uneventfully and the 
next morning they were on the field for their last 
test — the Romorantin-Chateauroux-Avord flight. 
There was a slight mist hanging over the ground, 
and they had to delay starting while the Chief 
Pilot telephoned along the route to ask about the 
weather. 

“It’s clearing up,” the interpreter told them 
finally. “The Chief says you can leave in thirty 
minutes. ’ ’ 

Half an hour later they were in their machines, 
motors “ticking over,” waiting for the signal to 
leave. When the Chief Pilot motioned them for- 
ward, they opened their throttles and rushed into 
the air. Between Avord and “Romo,” as they 
called it, the air was clear, but they were only a 
few minutes away from “Romo,” flying in the 
direction of Chateauroux, when they noticed a 
bank of low-hanging clouds directly ahead of them. 

They descended to go under the clouds, but, once 
under, they found the air becoming foggy. Both 
o£ them were puzzled as to the best course to fol- 
low. Or, rather, they both knew very well that 
the only sensible thing to do was to turn back for 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 47 


“Romo” and wait there until the fog cleared. 
However, they did not want to turn back. 

1 ‘ Any fool could do that, ’ ’ muttered Bob to him- 
self as the fog became thicker. 

He signaled George by zigzagging his machine 
and started to climb. He looked back and saw 
George pull the nose of his machine up, and then 
he became enveloped by the clouds. 

Few people realize that a pilot uses the horizon 
rather than any sense of balance to tell him 
whether or not he is flying in the right position. 
Without the horizon he is practically helpless, ex- 
cept for the vague information his senses give 
him. 

Bob, buried in the clouds, thought he was climb- 
ing, when he suddenly noticed that the air was 
screaming past the wires of his machine. It 
dawned on him that he was going down instead of 
up ; perhaps he was falling ! 

He pulled back gently on the stick until the 
speed of his aeroplane seemed normal. A mo- 
ment later he noticed that his motor was laboring 
and turning over very slowly. Was it engine 
trouble or was he trying to climb straight up ? 

He pressed forward on the stick and once again 
the machine seemed to travel at a normal speed. 
The engine began to turn over more rapidly. 


48 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Through the mist that surrounded him ; hiding 
even his planes from view, he managed to see the 
indicator that showed his engine speed. Then he 
found his compass, straining his eyes to see the 
dial. Instead of pointing in one direction, it was 
slowly turning around. He realized then that he 
had been turning circles in the air, instead of fly- 
ing a straight course. 

He corrected by putting his stick slightly to the 
left. The dial revolved more slowly and finally 
failed to make a complete revolution. It swung 
idly back and forth, useless as a compass, but 
Bob decided that it might be used as an indicator 
to show him if he were turning. 

Necessity — unloved mother of invention — aided 
him in working out a scheme by which he could 
navigate in the clouds. If his tachometer — the 
motor indicator — pointed to more than eleven 
hundred revolutions it was because his motor was 
racing. In other words it would be a sign that 
he was descending. On the other hand, if his 
tachometer showed less than eleven hundred it 
would mean that he was trying to climb too rapidly 
and was in danger of losing forward speed. In 
that way he could determine his position fore 
and aft. 

If his plane tilted to the left it would turn to 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 49 


the left, making his compass dial appear to turn 
to the right. In that case he could put his stick i 
a little to the right, bringing his plane on an even 
keel. If the dial turned to the left he could cor- 
rect by putting his stick to the left. 

It may sound simple and easy enough, but while 
he was evolving his scheme of navigation his body 
became covered with perspiration and he worked 
desperately hard; eyes darting back and forth 
between the tachometer and compass, and ears 
straining to catch the least change in the planed 
song. 

He became conscious of a luminous splotch in 
the dark gray of the clouds. It was the sun. He 
decided that it would serve as a horizon until he 
could reach clear air and so he turned his machine 
about and headed for it. Gradually the luminous 
splotch became larger and more sharply defined. 
It became so bright that he had to squint to pro- 
tect his eyes, but he did not vary his course. 

Suddenly he emerged from the clouds into the 
bright clear sunshine. Below him the tumbled, 
white hills of clouds glistened, reflecting all the 
brilliance of the sun’s rays. He sank back in his 
seat, exhausted and wondering what had become 
of George. 

Beneath him as far as he could see stretched the 


50 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

endless flooring of clouds. He had no idea where 
he was. His compass told him that he was flying 
in approximately the right direction, but he knew 
that he must prepare to land. It would never do 
to go wandering aimlessly above the clouds until 
his supply of gasoline gave out. 

To the left he saw a break in the clouds and 
hurried toward it. Looking down he saw the edge 
of a town, and then as the mist rolled back a bridge 
appeared. He recognized it as the bridge between 
Bourges and Chateauroux. 

“Oh, you lucky fellow !” he sang as he swooped 
down. 

When his altimeter registered five hundred feet 
he “flattened out” and flew along, inspecting the 
country. Ahead of him, in the direction of Cha- 
teauroux, the fog was being blown aside. He de- 
cided to take another chance. 

The familiar route over which he had made his 
first cross-country flight soon brought him to the 
aviation school at Chateauroux. He landed and 
asked about George. Nothing had been seen or 
heard of him. 

After his papers had been signed he lost no 
time in starting for Avord. He hoped that he 
would find that George had given up the idea of 
reaching Chateauroux and had gone back to the 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 51 


school. But when he landed he found that George 
had not arrived and had not telephoned. 

‘ 4 What has happened to him!” he asked him- 
self, knowing well what the answer to his question 
might be. Bob realized how lucky he had been, 
and that his best friend might not have been so 
lucky. 

He walked back to the barracks disconsolately. 
True enough, he had passed his tests and he could 
now put on the coveted wings, but that seemed to 
mean very little to him. 



GEORGE TRIES THE SPINNING NOSE DIVE 

At the moment when Bob nosed up into the 
clouds George was behind him. Realizing that 
there was some danger of collision, George pulled 
his machine off to the right before he commenced 
to ascend. The clouds closed in about him and he, 
too, was lost. 

The same feeling of instability that Bob was 
experiencing in another part of the clouds as- 
sailed George. He could not see the instruments 
that were fastened two feet in front of his eyes, so 
dense were the clouds in which he found himself. 

There was nothing to do but sit there, waiting 
and hoping that his life would be guarded by the 
good angel who often comes to the aid of young 
pilots when they blunder. He strained his ears 
listening to the motor. It was turning over prop- 
erly but the noise of it seemed to come from 

52 



BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 


53 


another planet. The only thing that made him 
feel as though he were not floating in space, quite 
independently of wings and a motor, was the vi- 
bration. He put his hand out into the fog and 
groped for the side of the cockpit. The thin wall 
of the fuselage, shaking and quivering with the 
beat of the motor, reassured him and he felt less 
lonely. 

The heavy moisture with which the air was 
laden beat on his face. There was the sensation 
of being drowned or smothered, he did not know 
which it was, but he felt that he must get out 
into the clear air soon. The effort of breathing 
was too great. It was like trying to get air 
through a mass of cotton that has been soaked in 
water. He could feel drops forming on his face 
and being blown away by the blast of air that came 
back from the propeller. 

“This is awful/ ’ he muttered, gazing about 
him with the helplessness of a man who has sud- 
denly lost his sight. He brought his hand up 
within a foot of his face before he could dis- 
tinguish his fingers. 

He suddenly became conscious that he was lean- 
ing heavily against the left side of the cockpit, 
and he decided that the machine must have tilted 
to the left. He started to correct his position. 


54 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Then he had the sensation of being whipped about 
as though he were on the tip end of a lash. The 
machine wrenched in the air. He was thrown 
violently to one side and then forward, straining 
against his belt. 

For a second his feet were off the rudder bar 
but as he jammed himself back into position he 
felt the rudder bar under his insteps again. The 
control stick felt loose and useless in his hand. 
He wondered if his controls were broken. 

The machine seemed to try twisting itself away 
from him. The wind, instead of catching him full 
in the face was hitting him on the left cheek in 
little puffs. And then he realized that he was 
doing a spinning nose dive. 

The words of an experienced pilot whom he had 
overheard talking one day came back to his mind. 
“If you get into a spin,” he had said, “put your 
controls in center and trust in your good luck if 
you have any.” 

The rudder bar seemed to be in the correct po- 
sition and George swung the stick over to center. 
As he did so, he realized that the motor had 
stopped. The quietness of the air was terrifying. 
He could hear nothing but the wind swishing past 
his machine as he fell, spinning closer and closer 
to the earth. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 55 


He wondered how far away from the ground he 
was. It seemed to him as though he had been 
falling for hours. He changed the position of the 
rudder bar a little. 

The machine took on a new movement and then 
a blast of air from ahead struck him. His heart 
gave a leap. Instead of falling in a spinning nose 
dive he was diving straight down. Now, if the 
machine would only hold together he had some 
chance. He pulled back on the stick, slowly and 
firmly. The speed gradually lessened until he 
could feel that he had the machine in his control 
once again. 

George put the aeroplane in a comfortable glide 
and felt for his throttles. He found the gasoline 
lever wide open and the air lever partially closed, 
and he realized that he must have caught them 
with his hand when the machine gave its first 
lurch. Perhaps it had been by accident or per- 
haps it had been the pilot’s instinct in him that 
told him to shut off his motor. Had he not done 
so his machine would have torn itself to pieces 
in the air. 

The motor was flooded with gasoline and there 
was one chance in a hundred of his being able to 
start it again before he reached the ground. Clos- 
ing the gasoline and opening the air lever wide, 


56 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

lie put the machine in a steeper glide. The rush 
of air caused the propeller to turn over slowly, 
forcing the rich mixture from the cylinders. 

Swathed in the fog and working simply by in- 
stinct he had no idea of his altitude. Steep glid- 
ing cuts down altitude rapidly and he realized that 
it would not be long before he would have to 
land. 

Several times he tried the motor, opening the 
gasoline lever hopefully, wondering if his ears 
would be greeted by the crash of the engine as 
it took hold. Each time he was disappointed. The 
motor seemed hopelessly “dead.” 

He wondered what lay below him — where he 
would have to make his landing. Would it be the 
streets of some little town, a marsh, a forest, or 
would the good angel who had protected him thus 
far put him down in a field where he might have 
some chance of landing, rather than crashing? 

He swiftly adjusted the levers for one last trial 
of the motor. There came three or four sharp 
explosions from it and then silence. The hope 
that had sprung up so readily died, and he realized 
that he was “in for it.” 

The fog cleared away slightly and, for the first 
time since he entered the clouds, it was possible 
to see the outline of the plane. Directly in front 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 57 


of him he could see the altimeter, the glass cover- 
ing the dial clouded with moisture. 

Just as he extended his hand to wipe the glass 
clear he saw something black loom up beneath 
him. No need for the altimeter now. The earth 
was directly below him. The black thing flashed 
past and others followed it. 

“ Trees !” thought George, and then before him 
there appeared a black expanse on which he knew 
that he must land. 

“Oh, Lord!” he exclaimed. “The top of a 
forest !” 

As he pulled the machine into flying level and 
began to lose speed, he could see the tops of the 
taller trees standing out from the others. If one 
of them caught his landing gear he would be 
tripped up and sent crashing to the ground, nose 
down. 

There came that fraction of a moment when 
the machine wavered in the air. He pulled back 
brutally on the controls and felt the plane sink. 
It “pancaked” down and he heard a tree tearing 
its way into his left wing. At the same moment 
he was thrown violently to one side and forward. 
His head hit against the edge of the cockpit. 
The lower right wing appeared to be uprooted 
and tossed back. The branches of the tree caught 


58 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

the upper right wing. There came a rending 
sound as the left wings gave way. The machine 
lurched forward crazily and slid to the ground. 
It rolled over as it struck ; and then it stopped. 





George unfastened his belt and crawled from 
beneath the wreck. He felt dizzy and nauseated. 
The world seemed so unreal and confused that 
he wanted only to lie still, with his eyes closed. 
At last he put his hand to his face and brought 
it away wet with blood. He wondered how badly 
he had hurt himself. His forehead ached, and 
with his fingers he felt the gash that had been cut 
when he was thrown against the edge of the cock- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 59 


pit. That was apparently the worst of his cuts 
and bruises and he stretched back thankfully on 
the soft ground of the forest. 

Later he opened his eyes again and found that 
he was much better. His head ached — his entire 
body ached, for that matter — but he was no longer 
dizzy, and he could stand without feeling that his 
knees were about to give way under him. 

The fog had cleared away considerably, and 
through the light mist that still hung over the 
ground he could see the tangled wreck of his 
machine. There was scarcely a piece of it that 
remained unbroken. 

“Just so much junk,” he muttered ruefully. 
A little blood dripped down from his forehead, 
reminding him that he must not delay finding as- 
sistance. He took off his heavy flying clothes, 
leaving them near the wreck. 

Before going a hundred yards he came to a 
little stream where he washed his cuts. After 
bandaging his forehead with a piece of his shirt, 
he continued on his way, walking down-stream. 
It was half an hour before he came to a road 
which led him to a small farmhouse. As he ap- 
proached, he saw a woman working in one of the 
fields. He called and motioned her to him. 

“Mon Dieu !” she exclaimed when she was near 


60 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

enough to see his condition. She stopped short 
and crossed herself. 

In his best French he explained to her that he 
was a pilot — an American pilot — who ; had had an 
accident. He was wounded and lost. Would she 
be so good as to help him? 



She stood staring. If George could have seen 
himself at that moment he would not have won- 
dered that she stared. His face was pale, dirty, 
and streaked with blood, his hair was disheveled, 
and his clothes were torn. To the poor, ignorant 
peasant woman he looked more like a ghost than a 
human being. She had heard that America had 
declared war, but she did not expect to have Amer- 
icans fall almost in her front yard and ask her for 
assistance. Modern ways were too much for her 
to understand and she was plainly terrified. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 61 

George felt his strength giving ont again, and 
he sat down abruptly beside the road. 

“Pauvre homme ! — poor man!” she exclaimed, 
rushing toward him. Here was something she 
did understand — a man who was suffering and 
who needed her assistance. She completely for- 
got her terror of the moment before. 

Muttering wildly, and asking questions he did 
not understand and could not have answered if 
he had understood, she assisted him to her home. 
When they entered the one big room of the house 
— kitchen, living room, and bedroom combined — 
she led him to a bed and insisted that he lie down. 
He wanted to sit up, hut she would not allow 
it. 

“Restez Id — stay there,” she ordered. 

He watched her scurry about, talking to her- 
self and occasionally directing a torrent of French 
at him. In a little stove that stood in the im- 
mense fireplace she started a charcoal fire, fan- 
ning it with a brush made of feathers. Soon the 
sparks were flying out from around the kettle. 

The old woman bathed his forehead gently, 
never ceasing for a moment in her chatter. 
When the cuts and bruises were washed clear of 
dirt she bandaged them. Next she felt his arms 
and legs to see if they were broken. George 


62 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

tried to explain that if his arms or legs were 
broken he would certainly know it, but she was 
obdurate and he did not insist for fear of hurt- 
ing her feelings. George may have been a “ dash- 
ing young pilot’ ’ who had just gone through the 
most thrilling, terrible experience of his short 
life, but to her he was simply a boy who had been 
hurt. Children had absolutely no sense about 
taking care of themselves. Who should know 
better than she? — hadn’t she three sons, who were 
now fighting the Germans? Probably George 
would meet them when he went to the front. And 
if he did meet them he would probably find them 
sleeping with nothing over their heads, catching 
colds. Children were always doing foolish things 
such as that. No, he might very well have walked 
for several miles with a broken leg. 

It suddened occurred to her that a person who 
had flown across the Atlantic might be hungry. 
George caught the familiar word “fairn” and lost 
no time in assuring her that he was hungry. She 
scurried away again and returned with bread, 
cheese, and a bowl of milk. He was allowed to 
get up from the bed and sit at the table. 

While he was eating she went outside and har- 
nessed her little donkey to a cart, and, just as 
soon as he had finished, they rumbled oft down 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 63 


the road in the direction of Yatan, the nearest 
town. She drove proudly through the streets 
with George beside her. It was her great day 
and for the first time since she had started talk- 
ing she became silent. It was the silence that 
befits a person of importance. Had not an Ameri- 
can landed in her front yard? (George’s landing 
place was getting nearer to her doorstep every 
time she thought of it.) Had she not cared for 
the American’s wounds? Was her house not the 
first place where the American had eaten French 
food since he flew aw T ay from New York? Eh bien, 
let the people of Vatan think themselves very fine 
indeed! She would notice them and speak to 
them when her important duties were ended. The 
people of Vatan — bah! 

They drove straight to the house of the Mayor, 
where Madame rang the bell fiercely. Was the 
Mayor in? Yes, the Mayor was at lunch. Tell 
him to drop his knife and fork at once and come 
to the door. 

The Mayor, a short, slender man, overheard 
Madame ’s orders, and appeared while the servant 
was giving her a lecture on the proper tone to 
be used in speaking of His Honor. When he 
heard Madame ’s story he sent the old servant 
running for the cure — the priest. 


64 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“II parle anglais — He speaks English,’ ’ he ex- 
plained. 

In finding the cure, who was not at home and 
who had to be pursued from house to house until 
located, the servant managed to spread the news 
broadcast over Vatan. A crowd gathered in front 
of the Mayor’s home. 

The cure, a fat little man, gathered his robes 
up around his knees so that he might make better 
time. He pushed the loiterers aside and came 
breathlessly up to George. 

‘ 4 Is it true that you have flown from America?” 
he asked. 

“No, indeed,” answered George. “I’m from 
Avord. I am an American pilot and I have had 
an accident. ’ ’ 

Madame ’s face fell a little when the cure inter- 
preted. However, it was no less an honor to have 
an American land in front of one ’s house. 

After George had told his story and it had been 
interpreted, they made their way to the post- 
office, where they could telephone to the school. 
Telephones are scarce in France and often there 
is just one to a town, usually in the postoffice. 

Bob was at the field when the message came. 
He had been loitering around the Chief Pilot’s 
office, waiting in hopes of such a telephone call. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 65 


The Chief Pilot granted him permission to go in 
the car that was being sent to Yatan for George. 

Bob found George at the Mayor’s home, sur- 
rounded by the prominent citizens of Vatan, who 
were lionizing him. As soon as it was possible 
they started back to Avord, exchanging the stories 
of their experiences as they rolled along over the 
road. 

It was dark when they reached the school and 
most of the student pilots were asleep. As they 
lit the candle between their cots one of the boys 
on the other side of the room called to them in an 
undertone. 

“Come here a second,” he said. 

Bob and George went to his cot. 

“Didn’t want to wake the other fellows up,” 
he explained. “Did you hear about Meyer?” 

“No.” 

“He escaped.” 

“Escaped!” 

“Yes, they were going to shoot him tomorrow 
morning and he cleared out just before dinner. 
Sawed through the bars and got away.” 


5 



BOB FLIES A NIEUPORT 

The boys intended to sleep late the next morn- 
ing, but there was so much noise when 4 4 Wild 
Bill” appeared with coffee that they finally passed 
out their cups with the others. 

4 4 What did you do to your head, George ?” one 
of the boys asked. 

4 4 Bumped it,” he responded. 

4 4 That so? It looks as though someone had 
bitten you. How did you bump it ? ’ ’ 

4 4 Tried to land on top of a forest.” 

4 4 Foolish thing to do. Don’t you know that 
you shouldn’t land on a forest? Never, never land 
on a forest. It ruins the trees.” 

44 I realize that now,” George answered. 4 4 But, 
you know when I was up in the air I started to 
think about the days when I’ll be an old man and 
belong to the G. A. R., and how my little grand- 
66 


67 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 
children will climb up on my knees and say, 
‘Grandpop, did you ever land on top of a forest V 
It would never do to disappoint them.” 

‘ 4 Right you are,” agreed the other. “A fellow 
must always think of his little grandchildren. If 
I were you I would try landing on a flagpole next 
time. You couldn’t do worse than break your 
neck.” 

Sympathy was always felt but seldom expressed 
at Camp Avord. By common consent everything, 
including death, was treated lightly. Every day 
brought its accidents, some of them grave and 
some of them amusing, but there was never any 
slackening in spirit and enthusiasm for the game 
of flying. There was a conscious effort to avoid 
the subject of death. Sometimes it could not be 
avoided, but the word was put under a ban. A 
man might “go west,” or “be down with the 
daisy roots,” or “be bumped off,” or “be 
crowned,” but everyone tried to forget about it 
and help others to forget. There was a feeling 
that if a man allowed his mind to dwell on such 
things he would “lose his nerve,” become “fed 
up,” or, as the French put it, “ deg onfle,” which 
means deflated. George had had a narrow escape. 
It was only good luck that kept him from being 
killed. But he wasn’t killed. Why worry? 


68 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“What did you fellows hear about Meyer es- 
caping ?” asked Boh. 

“Nothing except that he got away. He van- 
ished, skipped, heat it — that’s all. They didn’t 
discover that he was gone until the guard went to 
his cell with dinner. One of the bars had been 
sawed away — it must have been made of high- 
grade putty. They sounded the alarm and started 
a wild search all over camp but they couldn’t find 
a trace of him.” 

“Bad business.” 

“You bet it is. If I were you, Bob, I’d carry 
a gun around with me. The government might 
lend you one of those Seventy-five cannons.” 

“I don’t think he will trouble us. He has had 
too narrow a squeak to come back looking for 
more.” 

By this time the students were dressed and the 
race for the trucks to take them to their fields 
was beginning. 

“What are you going to do, George?” asked 
Bob. 

“I’ll wait for sick call and have my head fixed 
up again. I presume the medico won’t let me fly 
for a day or so.” 

“Probably he won’t. Tell him you’re feeling 
fine and kick up a fuss when he says you can’t fly. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 69 

He may let you tomorrow. I’m going out to the 
Nieuport field and register. See you later.” 

Bob rushed out and swung on the rear step of 
the Nieuport truck just as it was leaving. At the 
office of the Chief Pilot of the Nieuport field he 
presented his papers showing that he had finished 
his license tests and was ready for advanced train- 
ing. He was sent immediately to the Penguin 
field. 

The Penguins are aeroplanes in caricature. 
They look like aeroplanes, sound like aeroplanes, 
and try hard to be aeroplanes, but they cannot 
fly. The life of a Penguin is a round of hopeless 
endeavor. It hurries noisily down the field, tail 
up, just as though it were going to leave the 
ground. At the end of the field it is turned around 
and rolls noisily back. 

For the pilot who is to fly a combat machine the 
Penguin training is of great importance, for with- 
out it he stands a good chance of wrecking his 
plane before he leaves the ground. Combat planes 
are designed for speed, rather than lifting ability, 
and consequently their wings are small. In other 
words, they must take a longer run on the ground 
before they accumulate “flying speed” than a 
plane with wings large enough to lift it almost 
immediately. 


70 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

While the little combat plane is running along 
the ground it must be steered by the rudder and 
kept on a perfectly straight course. Unless the 
pilot knows how to use his rudder he will find 
himself in the middle of a very complete wreck. 
Footwork must be quick and decisive. The least 
tendency of the machine to run from its course 
must be corrected before it has actually turned, 
and once corrected, it is necessary to correct the 
correction. 

Bob felt ridiculous as he strapped himself in 
the little Penguin and his feelings were not helped 
by the comedy being played around him. Life on 
the Penguin field was a continual circus. 

The other students bade him an affectionate 
farewell. They shook hands with him, patted him 
on the back, and pretended to weep. One of them 
brought a bouquet of weeds — roots, dirt, and all 
— which he deposited in his lap. 

“Poor boy,” they murmured. “Such a nice 
boy, too. Such a good looking boy. Such a prom- 
ising boy.” 

“Go away from me, fools,” ordered Bob. 
“Can’t you see I’m going away to war?” 

“Come back to us some day. Don’t forget to 
come back.” 

“Stand clear, loafers,” said Bob. He aimed 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 71 


the ‘ ‘bouquet’ ’ so that it caught its donor in the 
chest. 

He pulled open the throttle and started bump- 
ing down the field. His course was anything but 
straight; he curved and twisted about, twice cut- 
ting complete circles. The other members of the 
class howled as they watched his antics. A pilot’s 
first trip on the Penguin was always an exhibition. 

The point at which he was to begin his return 
trip was a half mile away from the class, and, 
after covering at least two miles in getting there, 
he turned the Penguin around and headed for the 
hangar. His second trip was much better, and 
on the third and fourth trips he managed to keep 
a fairly straight course. 

He wondered, as he climbed out of the machine, 
if he was worse than the average and he found 
consolation in watching the next pilot. 

“Funniest thing I ever saw,” he gasped. 
“Won’t one of you fellows run down the field and 
tell him to walk back? I’ve laughed until my 
face hurts.” 

When his turn came again he discovered the 
trick of steering. It was all a matter of giving 
the rudder bar a quick jab, rather than a push. 
His last two trips were straight enough to satisfy 
his instructor and he was given another slip of 


72 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

paper to show that he was ready for work on the 

Nienports. 

At the barracks he found George, his head newly 
bandaged, writing letters. 

“ Telling your people about yesterday’s excite- 
ment f ’ ’ he asked. 

“No,” George answered. “And don’t you say 
anything about it in your letters home. I don’t 
want to worry them. ’ ’ 

“Yes, they are worried enough, I suppose, with- 
out having us rub it in.” 

“Finish with the Penguins?” 

“Yes. And how about you? When is the 
medico going to let you fly?” 

“Tomorrow. I’ll do the triangle in the morn- 
ing, go to the Penguins in the afternoon, and be 
with you on the Nieuports the next morning. ’ ’ 

1 1 Great ! ’ ’ 

That afternoon when flying started, Bob was 
assigned to a “double control” class for the 28- 
meter Nieuport, the largest of the numerous Nieu- 
port family. He found it not unlike the Caudron 
in the way it handled in the air and yet it was 
different enough, especially in landings, to keep 
him busy learning new tricks. After four “hops” 
he was sent to the 23-meter class, where he made 
his acquaintance with a smaller type of machine. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 73 

The instructor was 
seated on a box, with 
a stick of wood in 
his hand, pretending 
that he was flying. 

He had just landed 
his imaginary ma- 
chine when Bob pre- 
sented himself. 

“Another one, eh'?” he remarked. “Now I 
shall have to do this all over again. ’ ’ He resumed 
his position on the box. “Follow me closely. We 
are in the air. I cut off the motor .’ 9 He turned 
an imaginary switch with his left hand. “We are 
gliding down to land. Now I begin to redress 
. . . gently . . . gently. She is in line of 
flight. She is losing speed and wants to drop, but 
I hold her up ... so ... so . . . 
gently. She drops a little and I pull . . . 
quickly . . . and then I wait ... I wait . . . 
NOW.” He gave the stick a quick pull back to 
his stomach and the imaginary aeroplane made a 
graceful imaginary landing. 

“Do you see the difference?” he asked Bob. 

“It is in holding the plane at flying level and 
waiting for it to lose speed.” 

“Exactly. Landing a Caudron is a matter of 



74 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

two motions, but the Caudron is a mere cow. 
With a Nieuport the landing is a much more deli- 
cate affair. You must nurse it down. A Nieuport 
wants to do everything and anything but land, 
and you must bring it down just so. A Caudron 
will almost land itself.’ ’ 

Once again he repeated his performance of the 
imaginary Nieuport and then the class started 
flying. He took them up one after another for 
three “hops” each. 

When it came Bob’s turn he said, “Just keep 
your feet and hands lightly on the controls. You 
will be a passenger.” 

Bob did as he instructed and they rushed off 
the ground into the air, around the large field 
and down. 

“Now you will do the piloting and I will correct 
you if you make a mistake. Remember about the 
landing. Look well out ahead of you when you 
land ; not directly in front of the wheels. Remem- 
ber about your steering when you take off.” 

As they rushed along the ground, gathering 
speed, Bob felt a sudden movement of the rudder 
bar. The instructor had anticipated a turn that 
the machine was about to make. And as they 
were skirting the edge of the field he felt the 
stick shake in his hand. The instructor signaled 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 75 

him to take his hands from the controls. Bob held 
up both hands to show that he understood, 
and at the same time the instructor held 
up both of his hands. The machine was 
piloting itself ! 

Bob took the controls again; they turned into 
(the field, swooped down, and made ready to land. 
Bob pulled the machine into flying level and, with 
an occasional bit of assistance, brought it down to 
the ground. 

“Very good,” said the instructor. “Watch 
the take-off carefully. I had to correct you on 
it the last time. You did very well in the air — 
good flying position — but hold the stick more 
gently. A Nieuport knows how to fly and all 
you have to do is to guide it. Go ahead. ’ ’ 

They went around again and landed. As Bob 
climbed out of the cockpit the instructor said, 
“The last landing was fine. Three more like that 
and I’ll let you solo.” 

The next morning shortly after sunrise Bob 
made the “three more like that” and was passed 
up to the solo class. No sooner had he reported 
there than he was ordered to get in a machine and 
out of the way. They seemed to have things down 
to a rush-order system on the Nieuport field, he 
reflected, as he taxied out to the starting point. 


76 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

The man in charge gave him the signal and he 

took off. 

His first landing was a little ragged — “too 
much of the wheels,” the starter told him. The 
next landing was better, and he was signaled to 
take off again before his machine had come to a 
stop. This was repeated ten times before he was 
told that he had done enough. The Lieutenant 
who was in charge of the solo class gave him an- 
other slip of paper and suggested that he hurry 
over to the 18-meter class. 

The 18-meter Nieuports were the smallest and 
prettiest machines at Avord, and to fly them was 
the end and aim of every student’s ambition. Bob 
could remember only too well the many times he 
had gazed at them in the sky, wondering 
if the time would ever come for him to take 
one up. 

The officer in charge took his slip of paper and 
marked his name in a book. Bob decided that 
his memory of Camp Avord in years to come 
would be that of carrying slips of paper from one 
class to another, and having his name written in 
little black books. 

Within five minutes Bob was strapping himself 
in a machine and directing mechanics who were 
starting his motor. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 77 


“Contact,” called a mechanic. 

“Contact.” He pressed the button, the pro- 
peller was pulled over, and the motor roared. 

At the signal he shot straight down the field 
and up. Never in his life had he traveled so fast. 
This was real flying. The man who designed the 
Nieuport designed an aeroplane, not an ice chest 
with wings. Bob gazed down contemptuously at 
the machines of lesser renown. 

The little machine answered the controls with 
an alacrity that surprised him. In order 
to turn, it seemed necessary only to think of 
turning. 

After his second landing, the signal went up 
on the Chief Pilot’s signal pole ordering flying 
ended for the morning. Bob returned to the 
barracks and found George there. He had com- 
pleted his triangle and was busy sewing wings 
on the collar of his coat. Incidentally, he 
was giving some students who were sitting near 
him the benefits of his newly acquired distinc- 
tion. 

“You are mere children,” he was saying to 
them as Bob came in. “ Children, I say. Nothing 
but common students. Students, like children, 
should be seen and not heard — seen as little as 
possible. We pilots don’t mind having you 


78 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

around, but it pains us to bear your innocent 
chatter about aeroplanes. Perhaps when you are 
older you will know something about aeroplanes 
and you may be allowed to wear wings like these 
but ...” 

The remainder of his lecture was lost forever. 
Bob, who had come up from behind, pounced on 
him and they went down on the floor locked in 
each other’s arms. They eventually untangled 
themselves and rose, puffing and laughing. 

“ Where did you get all this energy, young fel- 
low?” asked George. 

‘ 4 I’ve been driving an 18-meter Nieuport.” 

“Have you, really? How did you get to the 
Eighteens so soon? They must be pushing 
you.” 

“No, they simply let us fly all vie want. And, 
man alive, you can’t get enough of that Eighteen. 
It’s great.” 

Bob changed his mind at the evening class. 
After he had made ten “hops” he began to feel 
as though he had done a good day’s work, but he 
kept at it, determined to “carry on” until they 
told him to stop. Around and around the field 
he went, scarcely ever allowing his machine to 
come to a full stop before he took off again. At 
last the starter waved in the direction of the 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 79 

hangars and Bob got out of the machine. He had 
made twenty 4 4 hops. ’ 9 

He was tired, thirsty, hungry, and happy. The 
next day would finish his training at Avord. He 
would be at the front within a month. 



PAU AT LAST 

The middle of June found them at Pau receiv- 
ing their training in acrobatics and fighting. Bob 
had arrived first, and George, whose accident on 
the last triangle had put him behind, came three 
days later. By a little careful scheming they ar- 
ranged to get in the same class once again. They 
were determined to finish their training together, 
so that there might be the least possible chance of 
their being separated when it came time to go to 
the front. 

They were sitting in the shade of a hangar, 
‘ 1 loafing. ’ ’ Incidentally they were obeying orders, 
for, when they had reported to Captain Simon, 
who had charge of the acrobatics field, he said, 
“Just loaf around and I’ll call you when I’m 
ready for you.” 

It was a pleasant order to obey, for the sun was 
80 


81 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

hot and not a breath of wind was stirring. Pau 
is in the southern part of France, close to the 
Spanish border, and it is noted as a winter resort 
for those who wish to avoid the inclement weather 
of the north. But it is hardly a summer resort. 
Overhead several little machines buzzed lazily, 
flipping about in the air, twisting and turning, 
flashing in the sun as they performed various feats 
of acrobatics. A few years before, their “ stunts” 
would have received columns in all the newspa- 
pers of the world ; now the people on the ground 
did not trouble to turn their heads to watch them. 

Bob and George leaned against the canvas cur- 
tain of the hangar, dozing. 

“I wish they’d hurry up and give us something 
to do,” remarked Bob. “I’ll go to sleep if they 
don’t.” 

“What?” asked George with a start. 

“I said you were a good-for-nothing, sleepy old 
dough-head. Wake up.” 

“I wasn’t asleep. Is the Captain ready for 
us?” George was awake instantly. 

“Not yet, but we might as well look intelligent 
while we are waiting. ’ ’ 

“Easy enough for me to do that,” answered 
George, stifling a yawn. “Comes naturally to 
me.” 


82 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“It’s a gift, I suppose.’ ’ 

“Yep. We might walk around the hangars 
again. ’ ’ 

For the tenth time since they had been waiting 
at the field they sauntered through the hangars 
looking at the gaudily painted machines. They 
were of all hues and colors. One was red with 
white polka dots, another was white with red 
polka dots ; there was another painted a brilliant 
green, and another painted with broad bars of 
red and white. They found machines that were 
decorated to resemble the flags of the various 
Allies ; one of them was the American flag. Some 
of the machines showed care and imagination in 
their decorations, while others were distinguished 
only by large colored circles painted on their 
wings and sides. 

These were the famous “Baby Nieuports” on 
which the students performed their acrobatics. 
They were marked with such gaudy designs so 
that Captain Simon could tell what machine he 
was watching as he sat back in his steamer chair 
following the antics of his pupils through his 
field glasses. If he saw “bal rouge” do a clumsy 
bit of acrobatics, the pilot of “bal rouge” would 
know about it when he reached the ground. Cap- 
tain Simon had the uncanny faculty of being able 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 83 

to watch all of the machines in the air at the same 
time. There was little that went on that escaped 
his attention. He was one of the most expert 
pilots in all France and he had been chosen for 
the work of instructing in acrobatics for that 
reason. When Captain Simon took his machine 
into the air everyone at the school stopped and 
watched him. 

The “Baby Nieuport,” in its day, was the pride 
of French aviation. Few pilots who had the privi- 
lege of flying one of them would choose any other 
machine for “ stunts/ ’ but the type was with- 
drawn from the front. It was worthless for war 
flying because of its small wing surface. The 
“Baby” was the 13-meter model and it lacked 
speed and climbing ability. It had long since 
been replaced by the 15-meter Nieuport, which, 
in its turn, gave way to the Spad. 

The boys had been at Pau for nearly two weeks 
and during that time they had been rushed from 
one class to another. When they first arrived at 
the school they were sent out for a few “hops” 
on the 18-meter, just to make sure that they had 
not lost the touch of it during the two-day trip 
from Avord. Then they went to the spiral class, 
where they performed sharp corkscrew de- 
scents. 


84 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

The next thing had been the 15-meter Nieuport 
— the little 15-meter with its sleek sides and 
stnbby body. They had both sworn that a person 
conld know nothing of the sensation of flying until 



he had been up in a Fifteen. It made the Eighteen 
look and feel like a lumber wagon, they said. 

After a few “hops” on the Fifteen they were 
sent to another class where they received more 
instruction in spirals; and then came the group 
flying. The purpose of the latter course was to 
teach them to keep their position in patrol forma- 
tion. It looked quite easy from the ground but 
very often the V formation became thoroughly 
disjointed. Then they would fly around in circles 
for ten or fifteen minutes trying to get back into 
their positions. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 85 


Bob and George had never seen so many ma- 
chines as they found at the ‘ ‘group” class. The 
supply seemed inexhaustible. When flying com- 
menced the machines would jump from the long 
orderly rows in which they had been placed by 
the mechanics, forming in a snake-like line that 
crawled to the starting point. There, at intervals 
of twenty seconds, the starter would signal the 
leading machine forward. It would no sooner be 
in the air than another followed, and another, and 
another, until the line of nearly eighty machines 
had dwindled to nothing. 

In group flying they might go wherever they 
pleased and fly at any altitude they pleased. The 
only rules were that they were not to fly low over 
the city of Pau, and that they were not to cross 
the Pyrenees Mountains, which ranged to the 
southward, forming a natural boundary between 
France and Spain. 

After they had become thoroughly familiar with 
the 15-meter planes, they were given machines 
with one hundred and twenty horsepower instead 
of the eighty horsepower to which they had been 
accustomed. That meant another big jump in 
speed. The ground became blurred under them 
now as they took off, so great was the speed at 
which the big Rhone motors pulled them. They 


86 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

found it thrilling to travel so fast but not thrilling 
enough to compensate for the heaviness and stiff- 
ness of the motors. The “one-twenty” lacked 
the flexibility of the “eighty” and it had to be 
nursed along tenderly. Regulating it was some- 
times like trying to open a combination lock with- 
out knowing the combination. 

The last thing before passing to Captain 
Simon’s class in acrobatics was the altitude test 
of 5,000 meters — more than 16,000 feet. For this 
they were provided with fur-lined suits that fitted 
closely around their wrists, ankles, and necks. On 
cords around their necks the instructor hung little 
wooden boxes — the recording altimeters, which 
would give a written record of their flight. 

It was a long steady climb, especially after 
they had reached 10,000 feet. The thin air at 
that altitude gave such slight lifting force that it 
took longer to climb the last 6,000 feet than the 
first 10,000. Even though it had been scorching 
hot on the ground — so hot that they felt they 
would smother in their fur clothes — they found 
it uncomfortably cold when their altimeters 
showed them that they were nearly three miles 
above the surface of the earth. 

Below them they could see the country stretch- 
ing out like a carefully made map. They cruised 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 87 


around close to tlie mountains, looking down at 
the snowcapped peaks and over into Spain. It 
was a glorious sight. 

The thin air made them pant for breath. Even 
though they were breathing rapidly it seemed im- 
possible for them to get enough air into their 
lungs. 

When the clocks fastened to their instrument 
boards showed them that they had remained at 
the required altitude for half an hour they were 
quite ready to turn the noses of their planes down 
and seek warmer air. They glided down slowly, 
circling about, singing and watching the country 
beneath them. Most pilots either sing or shout 
as they come down from high altitudes; it equa- 
lizes the pressure within their bodies with the 
pressure of the lower altitudes. Otherwise they 
would be slightly deaf and their ears would buzz 
for several hours after they landed. Also it gives 
the pilot something to do. In making a long 
gliding descent a pilot often becomes drowsy and 
finds that he must exert real will-power to keep 
awake. This is especially true of inexperienced 
men who were coming down from their first trip 
at a high altitude. There have been cases where 
the pilot has actually gone to sleep — and some 
cases where he has lived to tell about it. 


88 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Bob and George taxied over to the hangars, 
climbed out of their machines, and stripped off 
their heavy flying suits before doing anything else. 
They both felt as though they were in an oven. 
The air was heavy and suffocating. 

They presented the recording altimeters to the 
instructor, who opened them and removed the 
slips of papers. The needles had traced records 
of their long climb and descent, showing that they 
had remained the required half an hour above 
5,000 meters. That was all the instructor wanted 
to know, and he gave them the two slips of paper 
to keep as souvenirs. They were then passed up 
to Captain Simon’s class in acrobatics — the climax 
of a combat pilot’s student days. 

They were standing looking at one of the 
“ Babies” when Bob remarked, “We have been 
flying for two months now and I feel as though 
I were just beginning to learn something about 
it.” 

1 1 Same here,” replied George. “The more we 
learn the more we find to learn. ’ ’ 

“This game of flying is a science. A clever 
Boche could pick us off in half a minute. ’ ’ 

“You’re right.” 

“Oh, Thorpe, Morgan, come here.” It was 
Captain Simon calling them. They hurried over 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 89 


to where he was standing. “ I will give you your 
first lesson now,” he said. “Just come with 
me.” 

They went into one of the hangars and stopped 
before a machine that was properly called the 
“ skeleton.’ ’ The fabric had been removed from 
the wings and the cockpit was open on both sides. 

“I want to explain about the vrille — the spin- 
ning nose dive — before I let you go up in a 
‘Baby,’ ” he said, climbing into the machine. 

He showed them how to go into a spin and how 
to come out of it. George’s mind went back to 
the time when he had done it without Captain 
Simon’s expert instruction. 

The boys took turns in the machine repeating 
the movements the Captain had shown them. 
“Now,” he said, “you can try the ‘Baby.’ ” 

The little machine seemed to be more alive 
than any aeroplane they had ever driven; it 
jumped from the ground more quickly and re- 
sponded to the controls more readily. They were 
enthusiastic. 

“Every time I drive a new type I think it’s 
better than the last thing,” said George. 

They walked over to Captain Simon, who had 
been watching them. “You both did very well,” 
he said. “Good landings. That will be all for 


90 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

today. You can start on your acrobatics tomor- 
row morning . 1 9 

They were disappointed not to be able to begin 
acrobatics at once, but there was no arguing with 
Captain Simon. 

“ Remember what I showed you about the spin, ,, 
he said. ‘ ‘ Think about it tonight and practise the 
movements until you have them well in mind. It 
will be the first thing I will ask you to do tomor- 
row morning . 9 9 

There was good reason for having them do the 
spinning nose dive, which is popularly considered 
so deadly, before attempting the other tricks of 
acrobatics. Practically every accident in the air 
ends in a spin. Once the machine is out of con- 
trol, that is the course it naturally takes. But 
if the pilot has already done the spin several 
times the sensation does not confuse him and he 
is able to right the machine if it is humanly pos- 
sible. On the other hand, a pilot who has never 
practised the spin may accidentally get into it and 
completely lose his head in the emergency. 

The least mismovement of the controls while 
performing “stunts” may send the machine into 
a spin. Consequently, before giving the pilot an 
opportunity to endanger his life in that way he 
is given ample training. After a pilot has made 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 91 


his first spin there are no more terrors in it for 
him — it becomes a sport. 

Bob and George discussed these things as they 
walked along the road in the direction of the 
barracks. They were picking up a large fund of 
information at Pau. Everyone seemed to be ex- 
tremely willing to give them the benefit of all his 
experience. 

“I was lucky/ ’ remarked George, “to get out 
of that accident of mine with nothing worse than 
a cut head.” 

“You certainly were,” answered Bob. “In the 
first place it was a wonder that the old Caudron 
ever held together, and in the second place 
it was a miracle that you pulled it out of the 
spin. ’ * 

“I’ll take a lot of credit from the rqst of the 
world for that, but just between you and me, Bob, 
I’ll say that it was more good luck than good 
sense. I had luck enough in that one minute to 
last the average person a lifetime.” 

As they walked along talking, they failed to 
notice a man who was approaching them on a bi- 
cycle. Even if they had noticed him he would 
not have excited their curiosity, for he appeared 
to be an ordinary type of civilian; perhaps some 
man who was headed for home after a day’s work 


92 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 


in the country. He was pedaling along swiftly, 
his head well down. 

As he came abreast of them, the boys looked 
up — and they looked directly into the face of 
Meyer ! 



7 



ACROBATICS ABOVE THE CLOUDS 

Meyer was as surprised as the boys and he put 
every ounce of his strength into the pedals of his 
bicycle. He shot forward just as they started 
toward him and was out of their reach in a mo- 
ment. Pursuit was hopeless. The boys looked at 
each other dumbfounded. 

“ Meyer — that dirty German !” Bob exclaimed, 
looking about wildly for some means for taking 
up the chase. The only thing on the road was a 
heavy cart drawn by oxen. Meyer was disappear- 
ing around a bend in the road, his body bent down 
close over his handle-bars as though he were try- 
ing to offer the smallest possible target. Once he 
looked back. 

“Oh, for a rifle !” muttered George. 

“Look here,” said Bob. “It will never do to 
stand here in the road. The best thing we can 
93 


94 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

do is report this to the commanding officer at 
once. ’ ’ 

The office of the school was fully a mile away, 
but they covered the distance rapidly. The com- 
manding officer received them and heard their 
story. 

‘ 4 Don’t say a word of this to anyone,’ ’ he said. 
“Go along as though nothing had happened. I 
know more about it than I can tell you now. Keep 
your eyes open and if you see him again shoot 
him. ’ 9 

“We have nothing to shoot with, sir.” 

“Ah, that’s true. Wait a moment.” He left 
the room and came back with two automatic 
pistols. “Put these in your pockets,” he said. 
“And report to me tomorrow morning after 
breakfast. I shall want you. ’ ’ 

The boys went directly to the barracks after 
leaving the office, and there they found several 
pilots from the “group” class in excited conver- 
sation. 

“It’s dirty work, I tell you,” one of them was 
saying. “Aeroplanes don’t catch on fire like that 
unless something has been done to them.” 

“And certainly not three in an afternoon,” put 
in another. 

When Bob asked what had happened, he was 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 95 


told that three machines in the “group” class had 
been destroyed by fire just as the class was start- 
ing work. 

“The first of them was in the air,” one of the 
men explained. ‘ ‘ The pilot was killed, of course. 
He fell about a mile from the field. That delayed 
the start and while we were waiting in line two 
more machines began blazing. The gasoline tanks 
exploded and both pilots were badly burned. The 
instructors ordered us out of the machines and 
then the mechanics emptied the tanks.” 

‘ ‘ They sent us away from the field, ’ ’ added the 
second pilot. 

Bob and George made no comment on what they 
had heard, but when they had drawn away from 
the others Bob said, “I’m going to get that 
square-head if it costs me my life.” 

“But what can we do?” asked George. “If 
we go banging around looking for him we may 
spoil the C. O.’s plans. He seemed to have some- 
thing up his sleeve.” 

“For the present,” said Bob, “I suppose the 
best thing we can do is to sit tight and keep our 
eyes open.” 

When reveille sounded the next morning they 
both peered anxiously from the window to see 
whether the weather was suitable for flying. The 


96 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

sky was overcast and the clouds appeared to be 
hanging low over the ground. 

“ Rotten luck,” said Bob. “No acrobatics to- 
day, but we might just as well go out to the 
field. ’ ’ 

They dressed, had a cup of coffee, and boarded 
the truck, which started away with only half its 
usual load. Many of the students, encouraged by 
the bad weather, had decided that it was a good 
morning to take a rest. 

It was still dark when they reached the field. 
Captain Simon was already there. As they 
climbed from the truck he called them to 
him. 

“I will repeat what I have just said to the 
mechanics,” he began. “Yesterday on the 
‘group’ field there were three fires. I don’t 
know what caused them, but we will not take any 
chances. I want every pilot to examine his ma- 
chine thoroughly before going up. I, too, will ex- 
amine the machines, my own mechanic will ex- 
amine them, and the mechanic of each machine 
will be held responsible if anything is wrong. I 
don’t believe there is any reason for you to feel 
uneasy. If, under the circumstances, any of you 
would rather not fly, you needn’t. That is all. ’ ’ 

It was becoming light when the machines were 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 97 

rolled from the hangars. The clouds were hang- 
ing low over the ground and it looked to the boys 
as though there could be no flying until they rose 
higher. It was one of the rules of the field that 
acrobatics were not to be performed below 4,000 
feet, and the clouds were certainly not above 1,500 
feet. 

“He will probably have us hop around the field 
for practice/ ’ George remarked. At that moment 
Captain Simon came from his office and read a 
list of five names. The names of the boys were 
included and they went with the others to his 
office. 

“You men will do your spins this morning,” he 
said. “You may select your machines from those 
standing in front of the first hangar. We will all 
go above the clouds and fly around in a circle, one 
after the other. In the same order that you leave 
the ground you will go to the center of the circle 
— one at a time — and do one spin. Then rejoin 
the circle and the next man will try it. After you 
have all done it once you can try it over again 
in the same order. Then we will come down.” 

The boys looked at each other in amazement. 
They had never heard of a class in acrobatics go- 
ing above the clouds to do its “stunts.” From 
the calm way in which the Captain gave his orders 


98 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

he might very well have been suggesting that they 
all go to breakfast. 

The examination that the machines were given 
was severe enough to suit the most cautious per- 
son. In the first place every gasoline tank was 
emptied on the ground, after which Captain Simon 
peered into the tank with an electric torch. Sealed 
cans of gasoline were brought. The Captain 
broke the seals, and his own mechanic poured 
the contents into the machines. Every strut, wire, 
and wing was examined. Finally Captain Simon 
and his mechanic pronounced them to be ready 
for flying. 

It was a gray, dismal morning. The air was 
still and oppressive, and the pilots felt grateful 
for the blasts of air that the propellers fanned 
back on them as they tested their engines. Bob 
had chosen the ‘ 4 Baby” with white polka-dots, and 
George the one with red polka-dots. The machines 
stood side by side and the boys waved to each 
other as they waited, motors primed and ready 
to start. 

Presently Captain Simon’s mechanic came along 
and adjusted their belts. Each pilot had a broad 
belt going across his chest, holding him squarely 
back in his seat, and a belt over each shoulder, 
holding him down. They made moving difficult, 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 99 

but they gave an added sense of security. The 
prospect of hanging upside down for the first 
time is thrilling but not especially pleasant. 

Remembering their first experience in the 
clouds, the boys looked forward to this “ stunt’ ’ 
apprehensively. However, they found piloting a 
Nieuport through the clouds much easier than 
piloting a Caudron. They put their machines at 
a good climbing angle and went up steadily. The 
little machines seemed to have no desire to get 
oft the course. 

The clouds were so thick that they were blinded ; 
there was light and yet they could see nothing. 
It was like trying to look through a pane of frosted 
glass. 

Presently the light became brighter and then in 
a moment they shot out into the clear sunlight. 
They had left the gray, unpleasant day far below 
them, and now they were in another world where 
the sun was shining. Beneath them they could 
see nothing but an immense stretch of glistening 
tumbled clouds that looked like frozen spray. To 
one side, nosing up into the new world to which 
they had flown, the peaks of the Pyrenees were 
shining, their snowcapped sides blending with 
the endless expanse of white. It was trespassing 
on the sacred domains of the old Greek gods. 


100 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

The boys gasped and stared, blinking in the 
bright sun. It was a moment before either of them 
remembered to look for the other planes. There 
they were, gaily colored specks on the white floor- 
ing. There were five of them in all, and then in a 
moment the sixth appeared from nothingness. It 
was magic. 

The last plane was piloted by Captain Simon, 
who had not left the ground until all the others 
were safely in the air. There could be no mis- 
take as to who was piloting. It shot straight up, 
flashing in the sun. It tumbled over, nose down; 
it straightened out and shot up again, twisting 
and turning. No one in Pau except Captain Simon 
could do ‘ 1 stunts’ ’ so prettily. It was something 
better than mere “ stunting.’ ’ It was like a wild 
dance of a spirit released from the ugly, war-mad 
world below. 

Suddenly he went down again into the clouds 
and leaped up into the sun. Up and down he went, 
now hidden in the clouds, now flashing in the sun. 

Finally he signaled to them to follow him and 
they started off in a straight line. The students 
were imbued with his spirit and they made their 
machines fairly dance. Presently they were in a 
circle — a huge circle more than a mile in diameter. 

Bob saw the man ahead of him bank to the left 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 101 




102 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

and go to the center. The machine suddenly stood 
on its tail and then fell to one side and straight 
down, spinning. Presently the spin stopped and 
the pilot rejoined the circle. 

It was Bob’s turn. He went to the center, shut 
off his motor, and pulled his stick in toward his 
stomach. It was a breathless moment. The ma- 
chine leaped skyward and began to lose speed. 
The clouds, the other machines, everything, dis- 
appeared. He gave his rudder bar a kick with 
his right foot. The machine lurched to the right, 
turned upside down, paused for a moment, and 
then fell. 

The sky flashed out of sight, the mountain peaks 
whirled past upside down, and the clouds slid into 
view. He was spinning ! The entire world seemed 
to revolve about one point in the clouds. 

A glance at his altimeter told him that he had 
fallen six hundred feet ! He brought the rudder 
bar to the exact center, looking down at his feet 
to be sure that he made no mistake. As he put 
the stick in the center the machine stopped spin- 
ning. A slight pull on the stick brought him out 
of the nose dive. He snapped the contact button 
and the machine started. 

Never had he enjoyed anything so much. He 
“ zoomed,” using all the speed of his aeroplane 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 103 


to carry him up perpendicularly. As the machine 
began to lose speed, he flattened out, gathered 
more speed, and “zoomed” again. 

When all five pilots had done the spin twice, 
Captain Simon gave the signal to return to the 
field. They followed each other at short intervals 
down through the clouds. Each of them felt a 
pang of regret as he saw the gray, dull world 
beneath. 

After they had landed, Captain Simon took them 
to the “skeleton” again and explained the intrica- 
cies of vertical banks, renversements, retourn- 
ments, and wing slips. They practised the motions 
while the Captain stood by, criticizing and point- 
ing out their mistakes. When they had rehearsed 
all the “stunts” he told them to go up above the 
clouds again. 

“I shan’t go up,” he said. “Tomorrow will 
probably be a clear day and I will watch you from 
the ground . 9 9 

The first thing that Bob tried was the vertical 
turn, which is often called the “reverse control 
turn. ” It is given that name because the machine 
is banked up vertically to the ground, making the 
elevator become the rudder and the rudder become 
the elevator. Most expert airmen refuse to con- 
sider it in that sense. They say that when they 


104 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

are flying they are flying and that the position of 
the ground has nothing to do with it ; the rudder 
is the rudder no matter what positions the ma- 
chine and ground hold in relation to each other. 

At first Bob found that he lost altitude on the 
vertical turns. The machine had a tendency to 
slip down when it was 1 ‘ standing on its ear, ’ ’ and 
in order to correct that fault Bob found that it 
was necessary to push the rudder bar slightly 
with his upper foot. Also, he found that after 
putting the plane “on its ear” he had to bring the 
stick toward him with a rapid movement. If he 
delayed, the machine slipped down regardless of 
the action of the rudder and when he came into 
flying level again it would be with about one 
hundred feet less altitude. 

The turn to the left was considerably more dif- 
ficult than the turn to the right. That was due 
to the fact that the propeller, because of the angle 
of the blade, cuts deeply into the air when the 
machine turns to the right, but hits the air almost 
flat when the machine turns to the left. Conse- 
quently on the left turn there is very little forward 
pull from the propeller and the plane “wing 
slips” slightly. In order to counteract the slip, 
pilots often pull their machines up before begin- 
ning to turn. In that case, as Bob discovered, it 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 105 


was necessary to give the machine extra speed 
before “ jumping it up.” 

After he was fairly proficient on the vertical 
turns Bob tried the renversement. He 4 ‘ zoomed’ ’ 
up until his plane began to lose speed, and then 
with a slight pressure on the rudder bar, he turned 
it about and slid down to his original altitude, 
going in the opposite direction. The quick change 
in direction and altitude was a valuable combina- 
tion for getting out of range of an enemy ma- 
chine. 

He found the retournment more difficult to do. 
In the retournment the machine is “zoomed” up 
and, before it loses speed, turned upside down 
by a sudden kick on the rudder bar. The motor 
is then cut off and the weight of it drags the nose 
of the machine down — like a pendulum. The “up 
swing ’ ’ of the pendulum brings the pilot right side 
up and he takes control again, pulling the ma- 
chine from its dive. The results are a change of 
direction, and a series of changes in position and 
altitude that confuse the enemy pilot who is try- 
ing to follow with his machine guns. 

Several times Bob found himself doing a spin 
when he tried the retournment. He discovered 
that in the excitement of flying upside down he 
was neglecting to straighten his rudder bar after 


106 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

cutting off the motor. It was difficult to think of 
so many things at the same time. In making a re- 
tournment — in doing any “ stunts/ ’ for that mat- 
ter — every movement must be made with clock-like 
regularity. 

Last of all he tried the wing slip. He put the 
machine “up on its ear” and held it there, allow- 
ing it to fall. He found the sensation unpleasant 
at first. It gave an impression of falling out of 
control, and the wires of the plane fairly shrieked 
as they cut through the air. 

The wing slip is valuable for war flying because 
it is deceptive. From the air it looks as though 
the pilot were about to do a vertical turn and, in- 
stead, he suddenly drops out of sight. From the 
ground the anti-aircraft gunner calculates the alti- 
tude of the plane to a nicety, and then suddenly 
discovers that his shots are bursting above his 
target. The pilot has done a wing slip. The 
gunner scratches his head, sets his guns for the 
new altitude, and begins firing. This time his 
shots break below the plane. The pilot has been 
busy climbing. The gunner exclaims “Ach, 
Gott!” and changes his guns to shoot higher. 
The pilot wing slips again and the shots go too 
high. By that time the gunner gives up in disgust 
and decides that the plane is too far away any- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 107 

how. That is the theory of it, at least. Bob and 
George were soon to discover that theories do not 
always work out properly — also that German 
gunners had some theories of their own. 

When the boys reached the time limit of one 
hour set by Captain Simon, they were quite will- 
ing to come down. They had been jostled and 
shaken so thoroughly by the acrobatics they had 
been performing that the thought of getting on 
solid ground again was pleasant. 

Judging their positions above Pau by the moun- 
tain peaks that poked up through the clouds, they 
turned down to land. A few minutes later they 
were crawling stiffly from their machines. 

“My liver has flopped up where my tonsils 
should be,” said Bob. “My tonsils are down 
where my kidneys were, and my kidneys are up 
between my lungs. But my stomach is still there 
and I’m as hungry as a wolf. Come along and 
let’s get breakfast.” 


8 



COLONEL CASALE AND THE GERMAN 
AGENTS 

i i 1 want you to go with this man and do exactly 
as he tells you,” said the Commanding Officer, 
when the boys reported at his office. 

The man to whom he pointed was a short, heav- 
ily built soldier, wearing the uniform of a private. 
He was middle-aged and his face was covered 
with a scrawny beard; his uniform was faded and 
torn in several places. He presented a perfect 
picture of a “ territorial” — a soldier who is too 
old for active war duty and who is used behind 
the lines for laboring and guard duty. 

The boys decided at a glance that he looked 
stupid and they wondered what the Commanding 
Officer’s reason could be in placing them in his 
charge. 

“I’ll leave you alone with him,” the Command- 
108 


109 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

ing Officer continued. “He will tell you what you 
are to do. ’ ’ With a short nod to the man he turned 
and left the room, closing the door behind him. 

“You may call me Monsieur Roget,” said the 
soldier abruptly. “That will do quite as well as 
any other name. Which is Thorpe and which is 
Morgan !” 

“I am Thorpe/ ’ said Bob. 

“And I am Morgan/ ’ added George. 

1 1 1 heard of your escapade with Meyer in Avord. 
Good piece of work.” He spoke rapidly and with 
authority. He was certainly not the stupid old 
man he appeared. “If they had put the proper 
guard over him we wouldn’t be having this trouble 
now. Foolish piece of business. You are both 
quite sure that it was Meyer you saw on the 
road yesterday!” 

“No doubt about it at all,” said Bob. 

“Of course, I can’t tell you all I know about 
Meyer,” continued Roget. “But I will say that 
he is about the most slippery German agent in 
France. I’ve never even seen him and that is 
why I am going to have you help me. We must 
be getting along and so I’ll give you your instruc- 
tions immediately. You know where hangar num- 
ber six is, don’t you!” 

The boys nodded. 


110 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“I want you to walk down the road until you 
come to the hangar. Saunter in through the back 
door. Ill be there to tell you what to do next. 
Leave here in five minutes . 7 7 

Roget picked up his cap and started out. He 
turned suddenly and asked, “You have your 
pistols?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. See you later.” 

“This looks like action,” said Bob as they left 
the office. ‘ ‘ What time is it, George ? ’ 7 

“Five minutes past ten.” 

They loitered around the barracks for five min- 
utes and then started down the road. Presently 
they came to the hangar and entered by the rear 
door. Roget was seated on the gravel floor, ap- 
parently busy cleaning the landing gear of an 
aeroplane. He gave them a glance that told them 
to wait for him. 

He got up from the floor and came nearer. 
Without looking at them he sat down in front of 
an aeroplane and commenced to work. 

“Just walk along the wall of the hangar,” he 
said. “Keep out of sight and wait for me at the 
entrance.” 

They did as he ordered, hiding behind one of 
the big canvas curtains. The curtains had been 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 111 


drawn back, leaving the front of the hangar open, 
so that aeroplanes could be wheeled in and out. 

Roget, carrying a bucket of gasoline in one hand 
and his cleaning brushes in the other, slouched 
past and went out of the hangar. 

“Quelle Jieure est-il f — What time is it?” he 
called. 

“Dix heures et demi . — Half-past ten,” came the 
answer from the next hangar. 

“Eh bien; la soupe alors . — Good enough; time 
for lunch,” he answered. His tone was for all 
the world that of an old territorial who spent his 
days wiping grease off aeroplanes. His bucket 
and brushes clattered on the gravel runway of 
the hangar and the boys heard him plod away. 

They stood waiting breathlessly, wondering 
what turn the game they were playing would take. 
Suddenly someone appeared in the rear entrance 
of the hangar and walked toward them. It was 
Roget. 

“Get down underneath the curtains,” he said. 
They pulled the folds of the canvas curtains up 
and crawled under. They were well hidden from 
sight and yet they were able to see the entire 
hangar. Bob was on Roget ’s right and George 
on his left. 

“We may have to wait here quite a time,” he 


112 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

whispered. “ Perhaps no one will come at all. 
Get yonr guns out where they will be handy, but 
don’t shoot until I give you the word. I’ll do 
whatever shooting is necessary.” 

From his pocket he pulled an automatic pistol 
and a long black tube, which he screwed on the 
muzzle. 

“Silencer,” he explained. “Doesn’t work very 
well, but it helps.” He put the gun in front of 
him and then added, “I don’t want to stir up the 
whole school. ’ ’ 

For ten minutes they waited, hearing nothing 
but the occasional footsteps of some mechanic who 
was passing the hangar on his way to lunch. Then 
they heard the noise of someone who seemed to 
be raking the gravel in front of the hangar. Roget 
put his fingers to his lips and nodded. 

The noise of raking continued, coming nearer. 
Through the small opening they had allowed them- 
selves in the curtain they could see the figure of a 
man standing in the entrance, carelessly drawing 
his rake back and forth. His clothes were not 
unlike those Meyer had worn when they first saw 
him at Avord and he appeared about the same 
stature. His face was turned from them, but 
they felt sure it was Meyer. 

They gripped their guns and waited, scarcely 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 113 


daring to breathe. Slowly the man turned around. 
It was not Meyer. The boys were so disappointed 
that they felt like standing up and leaving in dis- 
gust. 

“Is it Meyer V 9 Roget asked in a whisper. 

“No.” 

Roget put his fingers to his lips again and they 
waited. The man slowly made his way back into 
the hangar, raking the floor. Finally, when he 
was close to one of the aeroplanes, he stopped and 
leaned on his rake. 

He stood motionless, but a pair of shifting gray 
eyes glanced rapidly over the hangar. He reached 
up on top of the aeroplane and unscrewed the 
cover of the gasoline tank. Then he dropped 
something that he had been holding in his hand 
into the tank, and replaced the cover. 

Immediately he began raking, approaching an- 
other machine as he did so. Roget ’s gun was up 
and the boys were holding their breaths waiting 
for him to shoot. It seemed impossible for them 
to wait another minute and they gripped the butts 
of their pistols tightly. 

Once again the man leaned on his rake, looked 
about him, and unscrewed the cover of a gasoline 
tank. The boys heard a muffled explosion and re- 
alized that Roget had fired. 


114. BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

The man clutched at his shoulder, tottered for 
a moment, and then slid to the ground. The boys 
made ready to spring up, but Roget warned them 
to be quiet. The man pulled a gun from his pocket 
and gazed wildly around the hangar. He evi- 



dently had no ideas where the shot had come from 
and he saw no movement of the curtain to give 
their position away. 

Roget ’s pistol fired again. The gun the man 
had been holding clattered to the ground ; his wrist 
was covered with blood. 

‘ 1 Come on ! ’ ’ shouted Roget, springing up. The 
man was too hopelessly wounded to offer any re- 
sistance. The first bullet had gone through his 
left shoulder and the second through his right 
wrist. 

“Pretty good shooting,’ ’ remarked Roget coolly, 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 115 


looking at the wounds. He pulled a roll of band- 
age from his pocket and began to stanch the flow 
of blood. “Thought I might need it,” he ex- 
plained. “Sometimes happens in this busi- 
ness.” 

He bound up the wounds deftly, talking in his 
quick way as he did so. Finally he said, ‘ 4 Morgan, 
you go for a doctor. Thorpe will stay here with 
me.” 

George was glad to get out, and Bob would 
willingly have followed him. The sight of the 
wounded man lying at their feet shocked them. 
They had seen many wounded men at the front 
during their days in the ambulance service, but 
this was different. They felt that they had been 
partly responsible for it. 

Roget, who had been talking to the boys in 
English, suddenly turned on the wounded man and 
said, in French, “Where is Meyer?” 

“Spain.” 

“When did he go?” 

“Last night.” 

“Are you telling the truth?” 

“Yes, I’ll swear to it.” 

“You had better tell the truth. It’s your only 
chance of getting out of this without being shot.” 

“Fll tell you everything I know.” 


116 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“What were you putting in those machines ?” 

“Fire pills.’ ’ 

“What?” 

“Fire pills. They start to burn after they have 
been in the gasoline three hours.” 

“Where did you get them?” 

“Meyer.” 

“Where are the rest of them?” 

“In my pocket.” 

Roget reached in his pocket and pulled forth a 
package of white pills about one-half an inch in 
diameter. 

“Nice pastime,” he said to Bob as they looked 
at the things. “Why did you want to put these 
in the machines?” 

The man made no response. 

“Come on — out with it. Why did you do it?” 

“Meyer.” 

“Did he give you money?” 

“No.” -iV* 

“You’re not a German, are you?” r ‘ 

“No.” 

“What are you?” 

“Spanish.” 

“Someone was paying you for it. Who was 
it?” 

The man became sullen and refused to answer. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 117 


* ‘ Come on — who was it? Yon might just as well 
answer. You will be shot before the sun goes 
down if you don’t.” 

“ Don’t shoot me — don’t shoot me,” he begged. 

“Who was it that paid you?” 

“Pedro, who runs the little book store on the 
Grande Place.” 

“Where did he get the money?” 

“Oh, senor, I don’t know.” 

“Yes, you do. Out with it.” 

“Oh, I don’t know, but I think it was a man 
who calls himself Henri Clavel. Don’t ask me 
any more questions. I am dying.” 

“You’re not dying,” returned Roget. “I took 
good care when I shot you that you shouldn’t die. 
Where does this Henri Clavel live?” 

‘ ‘ In the Hotel du Prince. Oh, I am dying ! ’ ’ 

“What is your name?” 

“Francisco Blasco. I am dying.” 

“How long have you been in France?” 

“Five years. Oh, senor, I am dying. You have 
killed me. I am dying. May the vision of my 
poor, sorrowing mother haunt you.” 

Roget ’s face twisted with rage. “Don’t talk 
to me about mothers, you dirty scum, or I’ll kill 
you now. A lot you cared about the mothers of 
the pilots you tried to burn to death.” He fairly 


118 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

spat the words out. Francisco Blasco cringed 
under his look. 

“Who else do you know around here?” 

“No one.” 

“You lie. How about the man who was to do 
this today and who was too sick?” 

“0, senor, I don’t know his name. I have seen 
him, but I don’t know who he is. He was too sick 
to do it and he made me take his place.” 

‘ ‘ Where is he now ? ’ ’ 

“At his home. He is sick. I don’t know where 
he lives. I am dy . . . ” 

“Shut up. If you tell me you’re dying just 
once more I’ll shoot you. The man is not at his 
home. He is in jail.” 

“In jail!” he echoed incredulously. “In jail!” 

“Yes. He wasn’t sick. He lost his nerve and 
gave himself up.” 

“And he told you that I would be here?” 

“Exactly.” 

Francisco Blasco hurst into a string of Spanish 
oaths. 

“Thorpe, I want you to stay here until the 
doctor comes. I am going. Tell the mechanics to 
drain the tank of the machine with the pill in it.” 
Roget ducked out of the door without another 
word. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 119 


When George arrived with the doctor, Francisco 
Blasco was still calling down curses on the head of 
the man who had betrayed him. The doctor ex- 
amined his wounds hastily and then ordered him 
taken to the hospital. Bob and George went to the 
office and reported again to the Commanding Of- 
ficer. 

“I have just received a telephone message from 
the city,” he told them. ‘ 4 Wait here for a few 
minutes.” 

The Sergeant of the Guard appeared at the of- 
fice in response to the Commanding Officer’s 
orders. 

‘ ‘ Clear out the jail,” the Commander ordered. 
“Put all prisoners who can be trusted on parole. 
Lock the others up in one cell. Put a double guard 
on the inside of the jail and string a guard of 
thirty men outside of the wall. Do you under- 
stand?” 

“Yes, mon Commandant,” answered the Ser- 
geant, his eyes bulging out in surprise. 

“Don’t let the prisoners talk. Keep everybody 
out of the jail except Colonel Casale.” 

“I don’t know Colonel Casale,” said the Ser- 
geant. 

“True enough. You will find the Colonel 
dressed in a private’s uniform that would be a 


120 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

disgrace to a territorial. He doesn’t look like a 
Colonel, but you will know that be is a Colonel 
when he speaks to you. ’ ’ 

“Yes, mon Commandcmt 

“That is all.” 

The Sergeant left the office looking as though 
he thought everyone in the world crazy. Never- 
theless, he lost no time in obeying orders. 

Nearly an hour passed before a large automo- 
bile truck filled with thirty soldiers and eight 
civilians drove into the yard. Sitting beside the 
driver and wearing a smile that stretched from 
one ear to the other sat Colonel Casale — “Mon- 
sieur Roget.” 

The truck drove immediately to the jail and was 
surrounded by a cordon of armed guards. Eight 
pale, thoroughly frightened civilians — German 
agents all of them — were ushered into cells. 

The excitement lasted far into the night. Mes- 
sengers ran back and forth from the office of the 
school to the office of the jail. The prisoners were 
being examined, and they were confessing in hopes 
of saving their lives. 

Once as the boys Fere standing outside the 
barracks, Colonel Casale came rushing along. He 
saw them and stopped. 

“My boys,” he said, taking each of them by the 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 121 


arm, “I want to thank you for what you have 
done.” 

“We didn’t do very much, sir,” said Bob. 

4 ‘Nonsense,” responded the Colonel. 4 ‘You 
started it when you saw Meyer, and I finished it. 
This is the most important capture the Secret 
Service has made in months. Unfortunately, 
Meyer escaped. We will get him later.” 

“Do you think he will come hack?” asked Bob. 

“Certainly. He will show up eventually.” 

The Colonel hurried on down the road and the 
boys stood looking at each other, thinking over 
the Colonel’s parting words. “He will show up 
eventually. ’ ’ 



BOUND FOR THE FRONT 

The last few days of training went by in a rush. 
The day following the wholesale capture of the 
German agents brought good weather. Captain 
Simon, sitting in his steamer chair, watched the 
boys go through their stunts. They did vertical 
turns, renversements, retournments, wing slips, 
and barrel turns for him. 

1 ‘ Good — very good, ’ ’ he said to them when 
they landed. He passed them up to the combat 
class. 

“ Isn’t it possible to loop a ‘Baby’!” asked 
George as they stood talking with Captain Simon. 
He had told them not to try looping-the- 
loop. 

“It is not possible to make a good loop,” said 
the Captain. “And it is bad for the machine. 
That is the reason I forbid it.” 


122 


123 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“And why isn’t it possible to make a good 
loop?” asked Bob. 

“The tail of the machine isn’t long enough, for 
one thing,” answered the Captain. “It doesn’t 
give the elevators the proper leverage. Instead of 
looping, the machine simply goes up, flips over, 
and goes into a nose dive. It wrenches the ma- 
chine and usually puts it out of alignment. The 
loop isn’t difficult to do and it isn’t worth while.” 

“But don’t the pilots use the loop in combat?” 

“Never,” responded Captain Simon, laughing. 
“That is a fable for people who know nothing 
about air fighting. You see, there is a moment in 
the loop when your machine is practically station- 
ary in the air. You pause there for a second and 
you are an excellent target for the square-head.” 

It was by asking questions that the boys picked 
up much valuable information and advice. At 
first they hesitated to ask, but they soon found 
that the pilots who had been at the front were 
glad to share their knowledge and experience. 

When they reported at the class in combat 
flying, they were given machines that carried pho- 
tographic guns. The “guns” were mounted on 
the aeroplanes as though they were machine guns, 
but instead of firing bullets they took pictures. 

In all single-seater fighting planes the machine 


124 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

guns are immovable. Wben tlie pilot wishes to 
aim his guns he does it by aiming the entire 
machine. Directly in front of him are his 
gun sights — usually tube, or telescopic sights 
and he maneuvers until the enemy machine 
. appears in position on the cross hairs. 

The guns are fired 
by a trigger on the 
control stick. The 
bullets go directly 
across the path of 
his propeller, and 
so, to prevent them 
from going through 
the propeller blades, 
the machine gun is 
geared to the engine in such a way that the gun 
will fire only when the bullets will go between the 
blades. In other words, the engine really pulls 
the trigger that fires the gun, and the trigger 
pulled by the pilot simply allows the gun to be 
fired. 

The propeller in certain types of planes turns 
as rapidly as 1,500 revolutions per minute, and, 
since the gun may fire twice to each revolution, 
the engine allows as many as 3,000 shots per min- 
ute. No machine gun can fire that rapidly; in 



IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 125 


fact the average machine gun in good condition 
will not fire faster than 500 shots a minute. In 
other words, the action of the gun is not retarded 
by having it geared to the engine. Occasionally 
the gearing — the synchronizer, it is called — gets 
out of order and the bullets strike the propeller. 
If the pilot fires many shots the propeller will 
probably be shattered in the air and he will have 
to land. On the other hand, if he fires only a few 
shots, they will often penetrate a blade without 
damaging it greatly. It sometimes happens that 
the speed of the propeller is so nearly equal to the 
speed of the bullet that the bullet will simply leave 
a crease on the blade. 

In the early part of the war the machines were 
not fitted with synchronizers. The blade was 
sheathed with metal to protect it, and the bullets 
which hit the propeller were thrown aside and 
wasted. 

In using the photographic gun, the pilot aims 
the machine, pulls the trigger, and takes a picture 
of his target. When the picture is developed it 
shows whether his aim was good or bad. 

The boys “shot” a number of pictures of a 
stationary target on the ground and found that 
they were doing “good shooting.” They were 
then assigned to instructors for the patrol work. 


126 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

The two instructors who had the patrol classes 
were men who had been brought from the front — 
much against their wishes — for that work. They 
were expert combat pilots with enemy planes 
to their credit, and they longed for the 
time when their month of instructing would 
be up. 

Bob was put in the “red” patrol and George 
in the “blue.” The “reds” were to protect a 
certain territory and the “blues” were to attack 
them. The fight lasted for nearly twenty minutes. 
Each side snapped its photographic guns furi- 
ously. When they landed, the plates were taken 
to the dark room immediately and developed. 

The results were disappointing. Practically 
every one of the students had 4 ‘ shot ’ ’ behind their 
targets. They had not taken into account suf- 
ficiently the fact that the other machine was mov- 
ing. After a lecture on shooting they were all 
sent up for another fight. This time they did 
better. They aimed a little ahead and a fair 
number of “shots” registered on the cross hairs 
of the plates. 

For two days the sport continued, and then 
Bob and George found themselves listed to go to 
Plessis-Belleville, known in aviation as “Plessy.” 
It was the last step toward the front. At Plessy 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 127 

they would drive Spads, receive their equipment, 
and he assigned to a squadron. 

They lost no time in getting their papers signed 
and their baggage ready. That night they were 
on the train bound for Paris. 

“ Let’s find out something about our chances of 
changing to the American service while we are 
here, ’ ’ suggested George, as they were leaving the 
station the next morning. 

“Fair enough,” answered Bob. “Our papers 
tell us to report to Plessy tomorrow. We can stay 
in Paris tonight and go out in the morning.” 
Plessy was only an hour’s ride north erf the city. 

They went to a hotel, washed, and left their 
baggage. The American Air Service had offices 
in Avenue Montaigne, they were told when they 
inquired at the Embassy. The boys went to the 
address that was given them and found a Major 
in charge. 

“It will be possible for you to change over 
within a few weeks,” the Major told them. “You 
can take your physical examinations now if you 
wish.” The Major thought for a few moments 
and then added, “I don’t want you boys to change 
over with any illusions as to what will happen to 
you. You will undoubtedly be sent to Issoudun 
or Tours as instructors.” 


128 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“But we don’t want to be instructors,” pro- 
tested Bob. “We want to go to the front.” 

“Naturally,” responded the Major. “That is 
why I am telling you how things stand.” 

“How long do you think it will be before the 
American squadrons reach the front?” asked 
George. 

“I have no idea. Six months, perhaps.” 

“But, why?” 

“Boys, anyone who can tell us why will set all 
our minds at rest. I’m sure I don’t know. For 
one thing we have no aeroplanes.” 

“In the papers we get from home,” said Bob, 
“we read all sorts of stories about millions of dol- 
lars being spent on aviation over there, and about 
the wonderful machines they are developing. ’ ’ 

“You can read anything in the papers from 
home,” responded the Major sadly. “From the 
stories they are printing you would think the 
skies of Europe were black with American aero- 
planes ; that we had a regular taxi service running 
between here and Berlin with bombs. Frankly, 
there isn’t a single American aeroplane fit for 
service in Europe.” 

The boys gasped. After all they had read about 
the work of the American Air Service, they could 
scarcely believe their ears. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 129 

“What do you think we’d better do, Bob?” 
asked George. 

“I would like to go to the front wearing 
my own uniform,” responded Bob. “But 
the thing I want most to do in the world is 
fight. ’ ’ 

“Same here,” said George. “I don’t want to 
be an instructor.” 

“What do you think, Major?” asked Bob. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make the choice 
yourselves,” he answered. 

“Could we take our examinations now, and then 
stay with the French until the American Air Ser- 
vice gets to the front?” asked Bob. 

“Yes.” 

“How about it, George?” 

“It’s the only thing to do, I guess.” 

The examinations took several hours and the 
boys felt famished by the time they were on the 
street again. Across the street from the aviation 
headquarters was a little restaurant which exhib- 
ited a sign, “American Cooking.” Two young 
French aviators walked in and ordered, in no un- 
certain tones, waffles, roast beef, and apple pie. 
The pleasure of eating real American food once 
again was great, but not great enough to over- 
come their disappointment. 


130 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

6 1 It’s a shame/ ’ muttered Bob. 

i ‘ It’s a disgrace,” George answered. 

They ate their lunch silently and then, as they 
finished, Bob said, “We might go see that young 
Captain at the French aviation office — the one 
who said he would arrange to have us sent to his 
old squadron.” 

“Good idea,” George replied. “Let’s go over 
and see him right away.” 

They walked to the Seine and then down to the 
Place de la Concorde, where they crossed the river 
and made their way to the office. The Captain 
recognized them instantly and congratulated them 
on completing their training. They told him about 
their plans and repeated part of their conversa- 
tion with the Major. 

“I wouldn’t be too disappointed about it,” said 
the Captain. “It takes time to build up an avia- 
tion service. The United States will probably 
have plenty of machines eventually. And, as for 
you men, I think you are pretty lucky. ’ ’ 

“How do you mean, Captain?” 

“Well, you are practically ready to go to the 
front. Instead of going out in a new squadron 
with men who have had no actual war experience 
you are going out where you will be surrounded 
by men who are old hands at the game. When 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 131 


you change to the American service you will be old 
hands yourselves.” 

“And do you think it will be possible for us to 
go to your old squadron — Spad 98 !” 

“I think so. I’ll telegraph to Captain Bonne — 
the commander — tonight.” 

The world looked much brighter when they 
left the office. After all, they decided, there was 
something in what the Captain had said about 
getting experience. And it was probably 
not the easiest thing in the world for the 
United States to get pilots and aeroplanes to 
Europe. 

The next morning they caught the train that 
went north in the direction of Soissons. It was 
crowded with soldiers, who were returning from 
leave, but they finally found places for themselves 
and their baggage. The train crawled along 
slowly and after an hour reached Plessis-Belle- 
ville. 

Plessy was a desolate place and the boys decided 
that it deserved the bad reputation it had among 
aviators. There were no barracks available and 
they were given permission to find quarters in the 
squalid little town that stood nearly a mile from 
the school. After searching for an hour they man- 
aged to find a room. 


132 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“I hope they don’t keep us here long,” Bob 
remarked. 

“We ought to be out in a week,” said George. 
“I was talking with one of the men who arrived 
yesterday, and he says that after we have made 
six hops on a Spad we will be put on the list of 
the pilots to go to the front. If we get on the list 
by Wednesday we will probably leave next Satur- 
day.” 

4 ‘ Fair enough. I wonder if we can fly this after- 
noon!” 

“We might as well try.” 

They hastily gathered together their flying 
clothes and went out to the field, where they found 
a small group of pilots waiting their turns on the 
two Spads. They gave their names to the instruc- 
tor and were told to report at the hangar for a 
lesson on handling the Hispano-Suiza motors. 

The Hispano-Suiza, with which all the Spads 
were fitted, is a stationary Y-type motor, ex- 
tremely well made and most sensitive. The boys 
found that they had many new things to consider 
in running it. In the first place the gasoline was 
fed by pressure instead of gravity, which meant 
pumps and pressure gauges to watch ; and, in the 
second place, the temperature of the motor was 
to be held constantly between the limits of a cer- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 133 


tain small margin. In order to keep the motor 
warm during a long dive, there was a shutter over 
the radiator that could be closed by a lever in the 
pilot’s cockpit. 

Late that afternoon they made their first flights 
in a Spad. Once again they experienced that feel- 
ing of delight that comes with piloting a new and 
better machine. 

During the next few days Bob and George were 
out on the field early and late, determined to com- 
plete their work at Plessy before Wednesday, 
when the list of those who were to go to the front 
was posted. “Hops” were few and far between, 
because there were only two Spads in service and 
there were nearly thirty pilots to fly them. Tues- 
day morning they completed their last flights. 

Wednesday the list appeared and their names 
were included. There followed a long wait of 
three days until the Saturday list, which would 
tell them where they were going to be sent. 

Saturday, before the list was placed on the 
bulletin board, a crowd of pilots gathered. A 
cheer went up when a Sergeant appeared at last 
with their fates in his hands. 

“Morgan, Spad 98.” 

* 1 Thorpe, Spad 98 . 9 9 

Those two entries on the list of twenty names 


134 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

were all that Bob and George wanted to see. They 
rushed back to their room, excited and happy. At 
last they were headed for the front. 

The next day they were busy getting their pa- 
pers and equipment. It seemed to them as though 
they had to go through an endless line of officers. 
There were identity cards to be filled out, orders 
to he stamped and signed, and requisitions to be 
made out for their flying clothes. In another 
building they were each given heavy fur suits, 
fur-lined helmets, boots and gloves, a pair of 
goggles, an altimeter, a compass, and a clock. 
Late in the afternoon they staggered back to their 
rooms carrying their new equipment in sacks. 

4 ‘ Let’s leave this loot here and dash back to the 
office,” said Bob. “If they have our railroad 
tickets we can clear out of here tonight and stay in 
Paris.” 

“I should say so,” replied George. “Let’s get 
out of this place as soon as possible.” 

They rushed back toward the office. 

“I’d like to know where we’re going,” said 
George. 

“So would I,” Bob replied. “Our tickets will 
tell us, I suppose.” 

The boys had been given their orders to join 
Spad 98, but the location of the squadron was not 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 135 


disclosed. The tickets — two large red sheets of 
paper labeled Ordres de Transportation — were 
ready for them when they arrived. 

4 ‘ Hurray !” shouted Bob. He unfolded his 
ticket and looked in the space marked Destination. 
“We are going to Souilly, Bob. That old mud 
hole of a place! Perhaps I won’t be glad to see 
it again!” 

“Souilly!” exclaimed George. His mind 
drifted back to the morning when he had driven 
Bob in “Old Number Thirteen” over the bumpy 
road to the station. “Well, what do you think of 
that? Who would ever imagine that a person 
would be glad to see Souilly again?” 

When the train pulled out of Plessy that night 
at eight o’clock the boys were on it. 


SPAD 98 


A gray automobile, battered and weatherworn, 
bearing the inscription' 4 ‘Spad 98/ ’ pulled up at 
the station of Souilly. 

“There’s our man,” said Bob. “Grab some of 
this baggage and we ’ll sling it aboard. ’ ’ 

The chauffeur who had driven to the station in 
response to their telephone call got out of his 
car and came over to assist them. He looked them 
over incredulously. 

‘ ‘ But the Captain told me that you were Ameri- 
cans,” he said. He spoke in French. 

“We are Americans,” Bcb answered. He, too, 
spoke French and his accent seemed to satisfy the 
driver that they were Americans even though they 
were wearing French uniforms. By this time both 
boys were fairly familiar with the language, 
though, as they said, it was a slaughter when they 
136 


137 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

tried to speak it. Their grammar and pronuncia- 
tion were anything hut perfect. Bob wrote in a 
letter home, “We have lost all sense of shame. 
We talk French in a way that makes Frenchmen 
hold their heads and moan, but we talk it — we 
simply have to talk it.” 

They entered the little town of Souilly and 
turned into the road that led to Verdun — “The 
road that saved France, ’ ’ it has been called. Mem- 
ories flashed through their minds like a series of 
pictures — weird, unreal pictures. During the ter- 
rific battle that had been waged for possession of 
the city they had seen this road a solid stream of 
traffic day and night. It was a stream that poured 
men and ammunition until the dream of the Crown 
Prince ended in blood and desolation. Many a 
time, fighting against the current of trucks and 
marching troops, they had traveled here with their 
little ambulances filled with wounded soldiers. It 
seemed years ago, and yet it was still so vivid in 
their minds that conversation lagged and stopped. 

As they left Souilly they looked eagerly ahead 
for a glimpse of the camouflaged canvas hangars 
of the aviation field. Once they had stopped their 
ambulances at this safe field to watch a patrol of 
aeroplanes take off. And now they were part of it ! 

Presently the hangars loomed into view on the 


138 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

right of the road. There were machines on the 
field; motors were turning over and mechanics 
were hurrying about. 

“A patrol is just going up,” explained the 
driver. “ Captain Bonne is on the field, probably. 
Do you want to stop there and see him, or go on 
to the office 1 9 9 

“Let us off at the field,” Bob said. “You can 
take our baggage up to the quarters and leave it 
there.” 

They got out of the automobile and walked over 
to where six Spads were standing in a row. On 
the upper wings of each of the machines there 
were broad crimson stripes that shone brilliantly 
in the sun, and on the sides of the bodies there 
were painted large black cats. The pilots were 
already in their machines; strapped in, goggles 
down, and waiting the signal to take off. 

“We’d better stand out of the way while they 
leave,” said Bob. “That must be Captain Bonne 
over there, talking with the first pilot.” He 
pointed to a slender, well-built French officer 
wearing three gold stripes. 

Captain Bonne stepped away from the ma- 
chine by which he had been standing. He waved 
his hand and the machine jumped from line, a 
mechanic hanging to each lower wing. After go- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 139 

ing ahead about fifty yards the machine was 
turned to the right, the mechanic on the right 
wing digging his feet into the ground and acting 
as a brake. 

The boys saw the pilot nod his head to the 
mechanics, who stepped aside as the machine shot 



ahead and took to the air. Even before it started, 
the second machine was getting into position. 
One after another the machines raced down the 
field and up. 

When the six machines were in the air and in 
a long straight line, heading away from the front, 
the leader suddenly made a renversement and 
started in the opposite direction. One by one 
they flipped over and came into position. The 
machines sailed over the field in perfect V forma- 
tion and disappeared in the direction of the front, 
fifteen miles to the north. 


140 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“Some formation!” exclaimed George. 

“Pretty work!” 

“We’d better go over and introduce ourselves 
to Captain Bonne now.” 

They approached the Captain, stopped, and 
saluted. 

“Corporal Thorpe, sir.” 

“Corporal Morgan, sir.” 

“Ah, welcome,” he said. He smiled cordially 
and shook hands with them. “I am glad to have 
you with us. I asked to have you sent here, you 
know. ’ ’ 

“That was very kind of you, sir,” replied 
Bob. 

“Not at all. Mighty glad to have two young 
Americans in my escadrille. Come along. I’ll 
show you around. ’ ’ 

They became enthusiatic admirers of Captain 
Bonne at once. For everyone in his squadron he 
had a smile and a word, and his commands were 
obeyed with the will and devotion a good com- 
manding officer always has from his men. 

“Oh, Roche,” he called. A tall, bearded man, 
wearing the greasy clothes of a mechanic, came 
toward them. “Here are our two Americans,” 
said the Captain. “Sergeant Roche is the Chief 
Mechanic. He knows all the ills and troubles of 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 141 


Spads. What mechanics are you giving them, 
Roche ? ’ ’ 

“ Guerin and Canet, sir.” 

“Good men both of them, ,, remarked the Cap- 
tain. 4 ‘ Bring them over. ’ ’ 

The two mechanics were found in the hangar 
and introduced to the boys. They were young 
fellows, about twenty-five years old, and they 
looked capable. A pilot values a good mechanic 
above all other possessions — even a good machine. 
A good mechanic can often make a bad machine 
into a good one, and a bad or careless mechanic 
can spoil a machine and make a pilot ’s life a night- 
mare. 

‘ 4 Thorpe can take Canet, and Morgan can take 
Guerin, ” said the Captain. ‘ ‘ There really isn’t 
any choice between them. Both of them are ex- 
perts. And they are pals; they do each other’s 
work, wear each other’s clothes, and spend each 
other’s pay.” 

“Excellent,” Bob said. “George and I do the 
same.” 

“That makes a good team,” said the Captain. 

They went into one of the two hangars that 
housed the machines of Spad 98. The Captain 
pointed out two new Spads, each bearing the 
Black Cat insignia of the squadron. 


142 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“They are yours,’ ’ he said. The boys gazed 
on them affectionately. At last they had their 
own machines; machines that no one else would 
be allowed to fly; machines that were theirs ex- 
clusively to fight in, pet, and boast about. 

Aeroplanes have dispositions and natures quite 
as pronounced as human beings and each pilot 
comes to know his machine ’s good and bad habits. 
He resents having anyone else fly it and he shares 
his affection only with his mechanic. When bad 
weather comes and flying is impossible, he trudges 
through the mud to the hangar at least once a 
day just to “look it over,” even though he knows 
quite well he will find it exactly as he left it 
the day before. And the chances are that he 
will find his mechanic there, wiping off stray 
specks of oil and polishing it so that it shines. 
When, at last, the aeroplane comes to the end 
of its short life, either through length of service 
or misadventure, the pilot and his mechanic bid 
it good-bye regretfully — if it has been a “good 
bus” — and look forward with doubt and misgiv- 
ings to the arrival of the new machine. It may 
not have the good disposition of the old one and 
in that case it is constantly shamed by comparison. 
On the other hand it may be better and the old 
plane is promptly forgotten. Forgotten, unless 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 143 

the old plane was the pilot’s first. The memory 
of that first plane always remains fresh in his 
mind. 

‘ * Morgan will take number eight and Thorpe 
number nine, ’ ’ said the Captain. The boys would 
have liked to stop there and spend the remainder 
of the day examining their planes, but the Cap- 
tain suggested that they go with him to the 
quarters. 

“Are you tired?” he asked, as they left the 
hangar. 

“No, not at all,” Bob answered. 

“You can fly this afternoon, then, if you like.” 
He directed Roche to have a machine ready at 
three o’clock. “I am giving you one of the old 
planes for your first flights. The field is rather 
bad and I don’t want to take the chance of having 
you break up one of the new planes until you 
get used to it. After you have made several 
landings you can take your own machines. Would 
you like to take a short patrol with me about four 
o’clock?” 

“Indeed we would,” the boys answered. 

They had been speaking French constantly since 
their arrival at the squadron, and they were de- 
lighted to find a pilot who could speak English. 
His name was Paulinier and, he explained to them, 


144 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

he had lived in England most of his life. The 
Captain left the boys in his charge. 

“This is better,” said Bob. “I can’t speak 
French well enough to tell the Captain how glad 
I am to be here and I must tell someone. It 
doesn’t do any good to tell George. He knows 
already. ’ ’ 

Paulinier showed them their room, a little 
cubbyhole about four yards square. It was par- 
titioned off from the other rooms by walls made of 
thin strips of wood over which paper had been 
tacked. The pilots could talk from one room to 
another without raising their voices. In their 
room were two cots and a wash stand, all made of 
planks. On the walls there were pictures cut from 
various French magazines. 

“It’s a rather nice room,” said Paulinier. 
“The boys who had it before you came fixed if 
up and they were quite comfortable.” 

“And where are they?” asked George. 

“Oh, they were killed a few weeks ago in a 
fight, ’ ’ Paulinier replied. ‘ ‘ They were new at the 
game and they fell out of position on patrol. 
Some Germans came down and picked them off. 
You must be very careful about keeping with the 
patrol. ’ ’ 

An orderlv came in with their baggage. Pau- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 145 


linier sat down on the edge of one of the cots as 
they unpacked. 

4 ‘If you chaps ever want to ask any questions, 
I’ll do my best to answer them,” he said. “Don’t 
hesitate about asking.” 

“That is very kind of you,” replied Bob. “I’ll 
start in now. The Captain said the field was bad. 
How about it?” 

“Land in the center of it and you’ll be all right. 
It is rough at both ends and it is mighty narrow 
if you have to land across it. ’ ’ 

“Is this sector very active now?” asked 
George. 

“Active enough to keep us fairly busy,” replied 
Paulinier. “The squadron is divided into two 
patrols and each patrol makes one flight a day. 
We have five or six fights a week. The Captain 
will tell you to stand clear of the fights for the 
first week or so. It is best to see how it is done 
before you mix up in them.” 

“And if we get in a tight place, what do you 
think is the best manoeuver?” 

“A good tight ascending spiral is about as good 
as anything. Don’t try to return the attack until 
you know that you are in the best possible posi- 
tion. And above everything else, look behind and 
see that no square-head is following you. A great 


146 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

many young pilots get bumped off their first 
month at the front because they don’t look behind 
them. They wade into a fight and before they 
know what has happened they find that some Ger- 
man has come up behind them and is filling them 
full of lead. Just remember this : The most im- 
portant thing for you to do is to bring down Ger- 
mans. Always use your head; try to get the ad- 
vantage of him and if you can ’t get the advantage 
stand clear of the fight. Later, when you learn 
the game you can ...” 

The sound of anti-aircraft cannon interrupted 
him. 

“ Let’s see what’s up,” said Paulinier. The 
boys followed him out of the barracks. 

The white puffs of shells exploding high in the 
air helped them locate the German plane at which 
the guns were firing. It was circling around, 
dodging the shells. 

“The ‘archies’ aren’t troubling him very 
much,” said Paulinier. “They are valuable as a 
signal to our planes, but they seldom bring a Ger- 
man down.” He looked at his watch and then 
added, “It’s ten minutes to twelve. Our patrol 
ought to be back about now. We may see some 
fun. ’ ’ 

“What is the German doing?” asked George. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 147 


4 4 Taking photographs, probably.” 

Another battery joined in the cannonade and 
the air about the enemy plane seemed filled with 
bursting shells. 

4 4 You see,” continued Paulinier, 4 4 the French 
‘archies’ make white smoke and the German ‘ar- 
chies ’ make black smoke. Sometimes, when we ’re 
flying directly over the front we wouldn’t be able 
to tell whether the planes about us were Germans 
or not. Then the artillery lets a few shells fly, 
we see the black smoke or the white smoke, and 
we know what to do.” 

At that moment the gunfire ceased abruptly. 
The gunners had seen through their glasses what 
the boys were to see a few seconds later — six 
little specks that circled down on the German. It 
was the Spad 98 patrol. 

“This is the last war that square-head will fight 
in,” remarked Paulinier. In his mind the fight 
was quite settled before it had begun. 

By listening carefully they could hear the dis- 
tant ta-ta-ta-ta-ta of the machine guns. Two of 
the Spads were attacking while the others stood 
off and watched. 

Suddenly the German plane lurched forward 
and started for the ground, nose down and spin- 
ning. 


148 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

1 i They’ve got him ! ’ ’ exclaimed Bob. 

1 1 Don’t be too sure about it,” said Paulinier. 
“He may be trying to throw them off. It looks 
as though he were done for, though.” 

An instant later a 
trail of smoke ap- 
peared behind the fall- 
ing German plane. 
Then a mass of red 
flames appeared. The 
machine became a blaz- 
ing torch. It fell be- 
hind a clump of trees 
and, a few seconds 
later, came the sound of the crash. 

The Spad 98 patrol did not bother to get in 
formation again after the fight. The machines 
were almost directly above the field and each pilot 
chose his own method of losing altitude. Some 
spiraled down, others performed feats in acro- 
batics and leisurely worked their way nearer the 
ground. One of the pilots did the “falling leaf” 
— allowed his machine to fall in any way it wished. 
A few hundred feet above the ground he took con- 
trol and swooped down into the field. 

Before he had stopped rolling, another ma- 
chine landed. Then another and another. Me- 



IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 149 


chanics rushed out and were dragged back to the 
hangars holding to the wings, helping the pilots 
steer as they taxied along. The pilots climbed out 
and began to discuss the fight. 

“It was Virot and Kernevez who got him,” said 
the first pilot. “They saw him first and so we 
stood off and let them have him. Looked to me 
like a good pilot and a good gunner. ’ ’ 

“There is Virot,” said Paulinier. He pointed 
out a machine that was just landing. “And there 
is Kernevez coming into the field. ’ ’ 

Virot taxied up, motioning the other pilots 
around him. The noise of his motor prevented 
conversation, but he pointed to his upper left 
wing. It had been perforated by at least forty 
bullets. 

“That Boche gunner was good,” he said, as he 
shut off his motor. “He nearly got me. Look at 
this.” He pointed to some holes in the body of 
the machine directly behind his seat. The bullets 
had missed him by a few inches. 

At that moment Kernevez came up in his ma- 
chine. He was wildly excited. 

‘ ‘ That was Kernevez ’s first victory, ’ ’ Paulinier 
explained. “Virot has four to his credit now.” 
That accounted for the difference in attitude 
shown by the two pilots. 


150 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 


Bob and George were introduced to all the pilots 
on the field, and as they walked back to the bar- 
racks, a big gong rang. The chatter about the 
patrol and the fight was broken up by a race. It 
was the gong for lunch. 



THE BOYS HAVE THEIR FIRST FIGHT 

It was shortly after three o’clock in the morn- 
ing when the orderly called them for their first 
real war patrol. 

1 i Weather looks good,” said George. To the 
east there were a few light blue streaks of dawn 
and overhead the stars were still shining brightly. 

They dressed rapidly and went to the mess room, 
where they found several pilots sleepily eating a 
breakfast of coffee and war bread. Paulinier 
came in presently and sat down beside them. The 
boys had been put in the patrol section led by 
Paulinier so that they might be initiated into the 
business of war flying by a man who could explain 
it to them thoroughly. 

They had made their trial “hops” successfully 
and had gone for a short patrol with Captain 
Bonne back of the lines so that they could get the 


151 


152 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“lay of the land.’ , After circling around the 
ruined city of Verdun several times they had gone 
back and forth over the sector, comparing the 
country that lay beneath them with their maps. 
Their new Spads worked perfectly and they had 
returned to the field anxious and impatient to go 
to war, as Bob put it. 

“You will fly in positions four and five,” Pau- 
linier said, drawing a diagram of the patrol on 
the table. ‘ ‘ Kernevez will fly six and he will keep 
two hundred meters (about six hundred feet) 
above you.” 

t 



“Captain Bonne told me that you both keep 
your positions quite well in patrol,” continued 
Paulinier. “That is one of the reasons he took 
you out yesterday. He wanted to be sure of that 
before he let you go on a regular patrol. Stay 
about one hundred yards behind the man ahead of 
you and about fifty yards above him. The best 
rule to follow for distance is to stay close enough 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 153 


so that you can distinguish the head of the man 
in the machine in front of you, but don’t get so 
close as to interfere with his movements.” 

The boys listened carefully to every word Pau- 
linier said. He was one of the most accomplished 
pilots in the squadron and he had been selected 
by Captain Bonne to lead one of the two patrols 
for that reason. The other patrol was led by 
Lieutenant Robert, who was an ace wearing seven 
palms on his War Cross. He was away on leave, 
and Yirot, who had shared the victory of the day 
before with Kernevez, was taking his place as 
patrol leader. 

On Paulinier’s coat — he had not been wearing 
it when the boys first met him — there was a War 
Cross bearing four palms, each one of them signi- 
fying a German machine brought to earth. As a 
matter of fact he had defeated six Germans and 
was really an ace, but the other two had been far 
inside the German lines and the victories had 
never been verified by headquarters. It was 
simply a bit of bad luck that he received no official 
recognition for the two battles he had fought and 
won, but it was something that often happened 
and that couldn’t be helped. 

“If you get lost and can’t see the patrol, come 
directly home as fast as you can. Don’t go wan- 


154 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

dering around and, above everything else, don’t 
join a patrol unless you absolutely know it is your 
own. We lost a pilot just two months ago by hav- 
ing him get lost and join a Roche patrol. He 
didn’t see the crosses until he was with them. 

4 4 When you see my machine jump up and down 
a couple of times it means that I see a square- 
head and that I am going to attack. When I go 
down, the machines flying in positions two and 
three will follow me ; Kernevez will come between 
you two boys and lead you. You will stay above 
us and prevent an attack on our rear. If we are 
getting the worst of the fight, Kernevez will lead 
you down and you can help us.” 

4 ‘What should we do if we get in a fight and 
our machine guns jam?” asked Bob. 

“Good question,” replied Paulinier. “I had 
forgotten to tell you that. If your machine guns 
jam stay right with us. Pretend that you are at- 
tacking. Try to un-jam the guns if you get a 
chance but don’t leave the fight. When you are 
above a German he doesn’t know that your guns 
aren’t working and he isn’t taking any chances.” 

On a map pasted on the wall of the mess room, 
Paulinier showed them the course they would fol- 
low and showed them what they might expect to 
see on the other side of the lines. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 155 

“When the ‘ archies ’ start popping around you 
don’t get worried,” he advised. “They won’t hit 
you.” And then he added, “If they do hit you 
there is no need of worrying.” 

It was a cheerful philosophy and they pondered 
over it as they put on their flying clothes. No 
need of worrying. The Boches either got you or 
they didn’t get you. Either way it was final. No 
halfway measures in aviation. 

The motors were being warmed up by the me- 
chanics as they made their way to the hangars. 
The day was breaking rapidly and it would soon 
be light enough to leave. 

They found their mechanics working over the 
machines like artists who have just finished great 
masterpieces and are critically putting the last 
tiny dabs here and there. The boys had found, 
much to their surprise, that instead of having just 
one mechanic they each had three. The duties of 
the first mechanic were to take care of the engine 
and boss the other two ; the second mechanic cared 
for the wings and the rigging of the controls and 
bossed the third; and the third washed the ma- 
chines, and, in general, did as he was told. 

One of the “third’s” many duties was to help 
the pilot get in and out of his flying clothes. As 
the boys approached the machines their “thirds” 


156 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

came running toward them and relieved them of 
the paraphernalia they had in their arms — map 
cases, helmets, goggles, and boots. 

When all of the pilots were in the field Paulinier 
called them to him and gave them the necessary 
details of the patrol. 

“We will cross the lines at the river and wake 
up that anti-aircraft battery at Consenvoye, ’ ’ he 
said. 1 i Then we ’ll turn west and go down by Mont- 
faucon, and then north to Dun. Keep your eyes 
open for a railroad battery of long-range guns 
near Dun. After that we’ll look for trouble.” 

The pilots scattered, each going to his machine. 
The ‘ ‘ thirds ’ ’ buttoned up their flying clothes, put 
on fur-lined boots, and polished goggles. When 
the pilots were so swaddled up in warm clothes 
that they looked — and felt — like Teddy Bears, the 
“thirds” helped them get in their machines by 
the simple method of getting behind and pushing. 

“Ought to have a shoe horn to get into this 
machine,” muttered George to himself as he slid 
down, feet first, into the cockpit. 

Belts were fastened, goggles put in place, and 
gloves pulled on. The pilots squirmed in their 
seats, finding comfortable positions. Each pilot 
raced his engine for a few seconds, listening care- 
fully for the least noise that might mean trouble. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 157 


It was barely light when Paulinier’s Spad rolled 
out of line and took the air. The others followed 
rapidly. Acting on Paulinier’s advice the boys 
made simple turns to get into their places, rather 
than the more difficult renversements. They were 
scarcely in position when Paulinier’s machine 
tilted from side to side as a signal that they were 
bound for the front. 

In a few minutes they were directly over Ver- 
dun. Below them they could see the black remains 
of the deserted city. To the north stretched a 
dreary waste of brown land, pockmarked by the 
millions of shells that had exploded there. The 
trenches were long twisting gashes that ran in 
every direction. There were so many of them 
that it was impossible to tell which were German 
and which were French. 

To the right of the patrol the Meuse River 
shone like a silver strip running through the 
brown desolate land. They headed directly for 
the spot where the river crossed the maze of 
trenches. 

Bob wondered if the guns below them were fir- 
ing. He could hear no sound save the roar of the 
motor. He looked around and saw George flying 
directly abreast of him. Paulinier ’s machine was 
slowly rolling from side to side and when the 


158 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 


machines in front of them took up the motion the 
boys did likewise, without knowing the reason for 
it. Then it dawned on them that when their ma- 
chines were rolling in the air they had no “blind 
side ’ ’■ — or * 1 blind angle ’ ’ — where enemy machines 
might lurk unseen, preparing to attack. 

Several puffs of black smoke suddenly appeared 
on their left. A few seconds passed before the 
boys realized that the black puffs were “archies.” 
The German gunners were getting into action. 

Several puffs appeared at their right. All the 
shots exploded too far away to be heard above 
the noise of the motor. The boys were just decid- 



ing that the Germans were very bad shots when 
they heard a noise that sounded like an old dog 
barking. “Woof — woof — woof,” a pause and 
then, “woof— woof.” The little black puffs were 
coming uncomfortably near. Paulinier did not 



IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 159 


move an inch from his course. The boys wondered 
if he had heard or seen the shots. 

The tone of the exploding shells changed sud- 
denly to a sharp crack that seemed to shake the 
air. Bob felt his Spad tremble and discovered 
one of the black clouds directly under him. A 
shell burst directly ahead of Paulinier and for an 
instant his machine was partially hidden. He 
drove straight through the smoke. 

They expected Paulinier to make some sudden 
move to throw the gunners off their aim — perhaps 
a wing slip — but he went serenely on, paying not 
the least attention to “archies.” Their admira- 
tion for his nerve was unbounded. As a matter 
of fact Paulinier was unusually well blessed with 
nerve. The Germans had to put up a much stiffer 
barrage than that before he would notice it. 

The first feeling of uneasiness changed to one 
of pride and satisfaction that they were causing 
the Germans so much trouble. At least one hun- 
dred shells had been thrown at them and one hun- 
dred shells represented much good German money 
wasted. 

Pride had a short career. The air suddenly 
turned black around them! The full battery of 
six guns was in action. The boys flew straight 
ahead, their eyes glued on Paulinier ’s machine. 


160 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

It suddenly gave a short leap in the air, the wings 
flashed and Paulinier went down in a wing slip. 

The boys put their machines over and followed 
him as best they could. Bob was able to watch 
him and come out of the wing slip at the proper 
moment, but George delayed and found himself 
several hundred feet below the patrol. Paulinier 
saw in an instant what had happened — he ex- 
pected that it would happen, as a matter of fact — 
and veered around so that George could “cut 
’cross-corners” to get into position. While they 
were turning George slipped back into place and 
the patrol resumed its course. 

The black puffs continued to appear above them 
for nearly a minute, and then they appeared far 
below. The patrol started to climb, and then, just 
as the gunners began to get the range, Paulinier 
headed down. By the time the gunners located 
the position of the machines they were getting out 
of range. Another gun took up the work where 
the battery at Consenvoye left off, but without 
effect. 

For the first time since they had been flying over 
German territory the boys had an opportunity to 
feel exultant. They settled back in their seats 
and breathed sighs of relief and satisfaction. 
Dreams had come true; at last they were roaming 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 161 

the skies in Spads hunting for the enemy. Also, 
they were convinced that everything had ever 
said about “archies” fell short of the truth. 

The patrol turned west and after a few moments 
passed over Montfaucon. The machines were roll- 
ing about constantly and the pilots were straining 
their eyes searching for enemy machines. Pau- 
linier swung the patrol to the north and presently 
they saw the little town of Dun ahead of them. 
Bob and George found the railroad tracks Pau- 
linier had mentioned and they looked for the heavy 
artillery train, but could see nothing. They 
circled above the town several times and then 
started south, following the river. 

They were near the town of Gercourt when they 
saw Paulinier’s machine jump several times. 
That was the signal for attack, according to his 
instructions, but they could see nothing to at- 
tack. He veered sharply to the east, but after 
several minutes the patrol turned west again. 

Suddenly Paulinier’s machine jumped again 
and then to the amazement of the boys the first 
three aeroplanes shot out of sight. A second 
later they saw them. Holding a perfect V forma- 
tion, they were diving straight down. 

Far beneath them they saw three more ma- 
chines — a big plane and two little planes — flying 


162 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

north. Two German combat planes protecting an 
observation plane, Bob decided. 

Kemevez suddenly came between them and led 
them down from 12,000 feet to 9,000. They won- 
dered if they were going into the fight. Below 
them they saw Paulinier and another pilot attack 
one of the smaller planes. The third Spad circled 
about and then dived, taking up the fight as they 
turned off. 

The three German planes became separated in- 
stantly. Paulinier and the man who was fighting 
with him had one machine engaged to the west. 
The other Spad pilot was in a duel with the 
second combat plane and the observation plane 
was headed north under full power. 

Kernevez took one last look at the sky behind 
them ; his machine leaped in the air and he started 
down. With their motors open wide Bob and 
George followed. 



12 



ONE BOCHE DOWN 


As Kernevez dived under the tail of the big 
German plane, Bob and George attacked from 
the sides. 

Bob, with his eyes glued to his sights, circled 
until the plane came squarely into view. He pulled 
the triggers and sent a stream of bullets from both 
machine guns. The tracer bullets, which came 
every five shots and which left a trail of smoke 
behind them, showed him that he was shooting 
too low. 

He started to correct his aim, and at the same 
moment he heard a splintering sound. Streaks 
of smoke from tracer bullets were going past his 
machine. Realizing that he was in a hailstorm 
of bullets and that his machine had been struck, 
he made a sharp turn that brought him out of 
range. His left lower wing had been badly 
shattered. It appeared to be holding in good 
shape and so he turned back into the fight. 

163 


164 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

George, attacking from the left, had encoun- 
tered another storm of bullets. He “zoomed” 
up and dived, but he was not able to aim 
properly. He circled and attacked from the side 
again. 

Kernevez was attacking from beneath. One of 
his machine guns had jammed and his motor was 
not working properly. He was wishing vainly that 
he could warn the boys against side attacks. The 
machine gunner on the Boche machine was no man 
to fool with. Kernevez could see him swinging 
his gun from side to side, sending out showers of 
bullets at them. 

Bob and George headed in for an attack at the 
same moment. For a fraction of a second the gun- 
ner paused in swinging his gun. He wished to fire 
at the nearest machine and decided on George. At 
the same moment he opened fire, Bob pulled his 
triggers. 



/ 1 arm flew up and 
f L, h e sprawled over 
his guns. Bob 
realized that he 
had killed him, 
and for a mo- 
ment he felt sick. 


The gunner’s 


hi 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 165 

Then he swore at himself for being a baby and 
headed in again, to finish the fight. 

The big German machine wabbled for a moment 
in the air. Smoke began rolling out from under 
the pilot’s cockpit, then came a streak of flame. In 
an instant the plane became a ball of fire — the 
gasoline tank had exploded — and it plunged for 
the ground. 

Kernevez, Bob, and George quickly grouped 
themselves and started south. Kernevez ’s motor 
was steaming. It was evident that he was 
in trouble and that he wished to lose no 
time in getting back across the lines. 
Paulinier and his two men were nowhere 
to be seen. 

Once above the lines, Kernevez started losing 
altitude immediately. He went straight ahead, 
regardless of the “ archies,’ ’ and the boys fol- 
lowed, protecting him against any possible attack 
by German planes that might be lurking about 
over French territory. 

They saw his propeller stop in the air and he 
began to glide down. They circled above him and 
watched him make a forced landing near the city 
of Yerdun. One wheel caught in a shell hole and 
the machine suddenly stood on its nose. He 
jumped out and a second later he waved to them 


166 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

as a signal that he was not injured. They turned 
their machines toward Souilly. 

Their first question when they landed at the 
field was about Paulinier. Neither he nor the two 
pilots with him had returned. 

While they waited for Captain Bonne, who was 
summoned to the field by telephone, the boys ex- 
amined their Spads. Bob’s lower left wing was 
well shattered by bullets and there were more 
holes in the fuselage. George’s machine had not 
come in for a concentrated blast of bullets, but 
there were holes scattered over the entire plane. 
His compass had received, a bullet squarely in the 
bowl and another bullet had gone through the 
fuselage two inches behind his back. As his me- 
chanics helped him out of his flying clothes, he dis- 
covered a neat little hole through the left leg of 
his fur suit. 

Captain Bonne came running over from his of- 
fice and the boys told him the story of the fight in 
the best French they could command. 

‘ ‘ Excellent work — excellent. My congratula- 
tions,” said Captain Bonne. He had them point 
out on the map the approximate position of Ker- 
nevez’s machine, and then, turning to Roche, he 
asked, “Who were the other pilots with Pau- 
linier?” 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 167 


“ Jacquelin and Pontier, sir,” replied the Chief 
Mechanic. 

At that moment two machines were seen in the 
sky, headed for the field. They swooped down and 
landed. 

“Paulinier and Pontier,” announced Roche. 

Paulinier waited for no mechanics to help him 
taxi to the hangar. He rolled along, tail up, and 
almost flying. 

“Good work!” he exclaimed, as he jumped out 
of the machine and saw Bob and George. “I was 
worried about you. Has Jacquelin showed up?” 

“No.” 

“I’m afraid he’s done for. Where’s Ker- 
nevez?” 

“Landed near Verdun. Did you get your 
Boche?” 

“Yes. I took one of them single-handed, and 
Pontier and Jacquelin took the other. I saw you 
bring the big bus down. You did splendidly.” 

Pontier taxied up and jumped out of his ma- 
chine. 

“Where’s Jacquelin?” he demanded. 

“Hasn’t returned.” 

“Then it was Jacquelin I saw falling. I just 
caught a glimpse of him. He must have gone 
down near Gercourt.” 


168 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“Did you get the Boche?” 

“Yes. He went into a spin and I followed him 
down. He spread himself out all over the field. 
Terrible wreck. Who brought the big plane 
down?” 

“The two Americans and Kernevez.” 

‘ 4 Splendid ! ’ ’ exclaimed Pontier. ‘ ‘ Congratula- 
tions . Where ’s Kernevez ? ’ ’ 

“Landed at Verdun.” 

“Injured?” 

“No.” 

“That’s good. Poor Jacquelin.” 

1 1 Come along to the office and write a report of 
the fight, Paulinier,” interrupted the Captain. 
“This is a good day for Spad 98, and I don’t 
want to let headquarters forget about it. I’ll send 
a car up to Verdun for Kernevez.” 

As they walked back to the quarters, Bob asked 
Paulinier why he had made the turn east over 
Gercourt after he had signaled for attack. 

“The sun was in the east and I wanted to hide 
in it until I was ready to go down on them,” he 
answered. “It is impossible to see a plane that 
is between you and the sun.” 

The boys went into their room and threw them- 
selves down on their cots. They felt exhausted. 
Their two hours in the air had been so full of ex- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 169 

periences that they both wanted a few minutes of 
quiet more than anything else in the world. It 
was George who spoke first. 

“We got him,” he said. 

“You bet we did.” 

That was all they had to say to each other as 
they pulled off their clothes and prepared to go 
to bed. It was quite unlike the scene they had 
imagined would follow their first victory. 

It was only half-past six in the morning, as they 
rolled over and went to sleep. It seemed to them 
as though a whole day had passed in the few 
hours they had been up. And when they were 
awakened by someone pounding on their door, it 
seemed as though they had been asleep but five 
minutes. It was nearly noon. 

“Entrez — come in,” Bob called. 

It was Kernevez. He had just arrived in the 
automobile that had gone to Verdun to find him. 
Paulinier entered with him. 

“Our little playmate here has brought good 
news,” said Paulinier. “Having descended from 
a long line of hard-working, industrious pirates, 
he got busy at Verdun and had our Boches of- 
ficially verified. The little ape will now tell his 
own story.” 

Kernevez, his red face beaming, gave a long reci- 


170 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

tation of his adventures. His French was so full 
of slang that the boys could understand but little 
of it, and so Paulinier translated. He had landed 
near Fort de Belleville, where he found a General 
having luncheon with his staff. Although he was 
nothing but a poor Sergeant — far, far beneath 
such an august personage as a General — he had 
been invited to lunch, and not only had the General 
given him a fine imported cigar, but the General 
had sent for the Captain^ who commanded the 
observation balloon. 

“I can imagine the 
little blighter telling the 
General exactly what to 
do,” said Paulinier. 
Kernevez grinned. 

When the Captain heard that the General 
wanted him, he came running. “Did you see 
three Boche planes fall shortly after five o’clock?” 
asked the General. “No, sir,” answered the Cap- 
tain. “Why in blazes didn’t you see them? Tell 
your observers to keep their eyes open after this. 
Why should we send such noble lads as this (point- 
ing to Kernevez, of course) to face the terrible 
perils of the air and accomplish glorious deeds of 
valor, if your observers do nothing but sit on the 
ground and play cards? 



IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 171 

“Show the boys how you stood while the Gen- 
eral was talking to the Captain !” directed Pau-* 
linier. Kernevez obliged by standing erect, head 
well back, and arms folded. Nobility of char- 
acter was written across his red Breton coun- 
tenance. His lips quivered as he tried to repress 
a grin. 

“And then,” Paulinier continued, “the General 
ordered the Captain to go forth and never darken 
the door of his dugout again until he verified 
the three victories. The Captain went out, and, 
presumably, made the telephone wires hot until 
he found people who had seen the machines fall. 
He returned with the verification, just before the 
automobile arrived for Kernevez. 

“The people who saw the fight,” added Pau- 
linier, “saw four machines fall, which accounts 
for Jacquelin.” 

“Then he surely went west, eh?” asked 
Bob. 

‘ ‘ Probably. There ’s just a chance that he man- 
aged to pull out of it. He was a mighty nice fel- 
low. Too bad.” 

“And you are an ace now, aren’t you?” asked 
Bob. 

“Yep,” answered Paulinier. “A regular ace. 
1 beat Virot to it.” 


172 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

It had been a long race between Panlinier and 
Virot to see which should have the distinction of 
being an ace first. 

Luncheon was a lively meal, but, despite the 
noise and laughter, there was an air of sadness. 

One of that little 
band of fifteen 
pilots had disap- 
peared. His place 
at the table was 
filled in, and Emil, 
the old Alsatian 
soldier who acted 
as waiter, had re- 
moved everything 
that could serve 
to remind the pilots of him. Emil had been with 
Spad 98 since it was first organized, and he had 
seen the faces change, one after another, until 
only two of the old pilots remained — Paulinier 
and Yirot. And Paulinier was now an ace. Emil 
could remember the Paulinier of a year ago; a 
delicate, quiet sort of boy who had listened in- 
tently to all the other pilots had to say and who 
had gone about his work of bringing down Ger- 
man planes in the same way that he would have 
gone about learning some exact science. 



IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 173 

Emil looked at him as he served luncheon and 
saw a hardness about Paulinier’s eyes and mouth 
that he had never noticed before. He wondered 
how long it would be before Paulinier’s place at 
the end of the table would be filled by another 
pilot. And there was Virot, who lacked just one 
machine of being an ace. Something told him 
that Virot would be next, and he hated himself 
for the thought. Too often his premonitions had 
come true. 

The two Americans were nice boys, he decided. 
They were gay and amusing, especially when they 
tried to talk French, and they had done mighty 
well on their first patrol. Perhaps they were 
natural fighters. They had come from America, 
where one is constantly fighting Indians. Emil 
was convinced that America was still overrun with 
Indians on the warpath. 

Natural-born fighters or not, Emil said to him- 
self, it was shameful that war should reach over 
the broad Atlantic and claim more young men as 
fuel for its cannons. The dirty Boches! Emil 
went into the kitchen and delivered some strong 
opinions on the subject of war in general. He 
hated it. As a matter of fact, no one in the squad- 
ron ever knew quite how much he did hate it, how 
he suffered at the thought of “his pilots ’ 9 dying, 


174 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

and how solemnly he considered his duty of pro- 
viding for them and serving them. 

After luncheon the boys went with Paulinier to 
the hangars, where they examined their machines. 
The lower left wing of Bob’s Spad had been re- 
moved and the new wing could not be put in place 
in time for the next morning’s patrol. The me- 
chanics had found one of George’s control wires 
nicked by a bullet, and Roche had decided to 
change it. The machines would probably not be 
ready before the next afternoon. 

‘‘The mechanics will not be able to work to- 
night,” said Roche. Paulinier asked the reason, 
and Roche made a reply that the boys could not 
understand. 

“I’ll tell you about it later,” said Paulinier. He 
took them over to where mechanics were work- 
ing on a big Spad. It was equipped to carry 
a pilot and one passenger instead of the pilot 
alone. 

“There is going to be a secret mission tonight,” 
explained Paulinier as they left the hangar. 
“Lieutenant Robert is coming from Paris to do 
it, Roche says. He is either going to land a spy 
in Germany or pick up one of our spies and bring 
him back. The mechanics will all have to be in 
their quarters. That is the reason why they won’t 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 175 

be able to work. Even the pilots are supposed to 
be off the field. I am going to help Roche start 
him off, and I don’t think the Captain will object 
if I take you out. Would you like to see it!” 

“You bet we would!” exclaimed the two boys, 
at exactly the same moment. 

“I’ll ask Captain Bonne if it will be all right.” 

That night shortly before eleven o’clock, they 
were on the deserted field waiting The two-seated 
Spad had been rolled from the hangar and its 
engine was turning over slowly, warming up. 
Roche was anxiously feeling the cylinders and 
watching the temperature dial. 

At exactly eleven a limousine rolled up the road 
and stopped near the hangar. A man dressed 
in flying-clothes got out, and a woman, wearing a 
heavy fur coat, followed him. Not a word was 
spoken. 

They walked directly to the machine. The man 
climbed into the pilot’s cockpit, while Paulinier 
and Roche helped the woman into the passenger 
seat. Straps were adjusted, and the engine was 
raced for a moment. The boys saw the pilot wave 
his hand as a signal to have the blocks yanked 
out from in front of the wheels. 

The machine sped down the field and was lost 
in the darkness. Several minutes later they heard 


176 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

the muffled roar of the motor over their heads. 
They looked up, but could see nothing. 

The noise of the motor became fainter and 
fainter as the Spad made its way through the 
darkness toward the lines. 



THE FRENCH LAUNCH AN ATTACK 

“I’m going to do that trick before I’m much 
older,” said Bob. 

The boys were sitting in their room with Pau- 
linier, waiting for the spy-carrying Spad to re- 
turn. 

“Do you really want to try it, Bob?” asked 
George. “Or are you just killing time talking?” 

“No, for a fact, I’m going to do it,” answered 
Bob. “I’m going to ask Captain Bonne tomor- 
row. Where does Lieutenant Robert land across 
the lines, Paulinier?” 

“That is decided by the Secret Service in 
Paris,” he answered. “They know what is going 
on over there and what fields are safe. At least, 
sometimes they know. Lieutenant Robert went 
over once and he just escaped landing in a field 
that had been prepared for him. It was a nest of 
177 


178 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

barbed wire. He had to come back without pick- 
ing up the spy. Another time some soldiers were 
waiting for him and he was nearly captured. He 
was too quick for them, though.” 

‘ 4 Then it is considered quite as much of a 
stunt as bringing down a Boche?” asked Bob. 

“ Indeed it is. Very few men want to try it. 
Robert is supposed to be an ace with seven ma- 
chines to his credit. As a matter of fact he has 
brought down only three machines. The other 
four palms he wears on his Croix de Guerre are 
for spy-carrying trips, just like this. Of course, 
the Secret Service doesn’t want to talk about it 
and so they camouflage the citation. He was given 
the Medaille Militaire after his second trip and 
made an officer after his fourth.” 

The boys told Paulinier the story of their ad- 
ventures with Meyer at Avord and Francisco 
Blasco at Pau. 

‘ ‘ Listen here, Thorpe, ’ ’ said Paulinier. ‘ ‘ If you 
want to go in for this spy business just let Colonel 
Casale know about it. He is the man who runs the 
whole show. I’ll talk with the Captain tomorrow 
if you’d like.” 

“I wish you would,” replied Bob. 

The door opened and Roche stuck his head in. 
“Paulinier,” he said. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 179 

6 ‘ Come on, fellows.” 

As they went across the field Paulinier told them 
that a message had been received saying that 
Lieutenant Robert was returning. “A micro- 
phone station near the front picks up the sound 
of his motor and telegraphs hack, ’ ’ he explained. 

On the field there were four mechanics carrying 
pails. Roche was instructing them in their posi- 
tions. 

“Gasoline for the landing flares,” said Pau- 
linier. 

“What does he use on the other side!” asked 
Bob, intent on learning all he could about the 
business of carrying spies. 

“He has a little electric light on his landing 
gear, but he doesn’t use it if can land without it. 
If it is too dark he switches it on just as he comes 
into the field.” 

They heard the faint hum of a motor. It grew 
louder and louder. Roche poured a little gasoline 
on the ground and touched a match to it. The 
flame blazed brightly for a moment and then died 
out. 

Lieutenant Robert switched his landing light on 
and off as a signal that he had seen the flare. The 
noise of his motor stopped abruptly and Roche 
shouted a command to his men. 


180 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Suddenly two long parallel lines of flame burst 
out on the ground. The big Spad flashed out of 
the darkness and swooped down between them. 

“A beauty!” exclaimed Bob as Lieutenant 
Robert made a clean even landing. 

Even before the machine could be turned around 
and headed for the hangar the flames died out. 
Lieutenant Robert taxied up in the darkness and 
jumped out. 

He said a few words to Paulinier and went di- 
rectly to his quarters. 

“Robert says that everything was quiet,” Pau- 
linier told the boys. 

They returned to the barracks and prepared to 
go to bed. “You may want to get into that spy 
game, Bob,” said George as they undressed, “but 
I have another hunch. I want to get one of those 
observation balloons.” 

“Go to it, sonny,” said Bob. “You specialize 
on balloons, I’ll specialize on spies, and then, 
when we haven’t anything else to do, we can go out 
and fight aeroplanes.” 

“It’s a great life,” said George. He rolled 
over and dropped off to sleep. 

The next morning Paulinier spoke to Captain 
Bonne about Bob’s desire to try spy-carrying. 
The Captain, after notifying Bob that he was 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 181 

doing so, wrote to Colonel Casale for instructions. 
There was nothing to do hut wait. 

In the meantime George was collecting informa- 
tion on the subject of attacking “ sausages’ ’ — the 
German observation balloons. He found that it 
was necessary to have a larger machine gun, and, 
after discovering one in the room where the extra 
guns were stored, asked permission to have it 
mounted on his plane. The Captain laughed when 
he made his request. 

“Tell the Americans,” he said to Paulinier, 
“that I never refuse anything to pilots who bring 
down German machines. They can have anything 
they want.” 

Captain Bonne had only one strict rule for his 
pilots : They must get enough sleep. It was his 
theory that if pilots slept well and had good food 
they would fly well and fight hard. Also he in- 
sisted that his pilots go on leave every three 
months whether they wanted to go or not. He 
occupied almost exactly the same position toward 
his men as the coach of an athletic team. It 
was his business to keep them in good fighting 
trim. 

During the two weeks that followed their first 
patrol over the lines, they hunted constantly for 
more battles. Sometimes the patrols ranged far 


182 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

inside the German lines, but they were not able 
to stir up a fight. There seemed to be few enemy 
machines in action, and those that they did see in 
the air turned for home before they could be at- 
tacked. Several times Paulinier ’s patrol went up 
voluntarily in the afternoon and swept around the 
lines from St. Mihiel to the Forest of Argonne, but 
they found nothing to fight. 

‘ ‘ I want action, ’ ’ said George one afternoon. 4 ‘ I 
particularly hate the square-heads today, and I ’m 
going to ask the Captain if I can strafe a balloon.’ ’ 

He had been out at the target putting the finish- 
ing touches on the regulation of his big machine 
gun. It sent a stream of incendiary bullets. The 
small gun would also fire incendiary bullets, but 
it had been found advisable to limit attacks on 
balloons to planes equipped with the big gun. The 
small bullets made such a small hole in the bag 
of the balloon that the bullet was extinguished, for 
want of oxygen, before the gas could ignite. The 
big bullets, however, tore such a hole in the bag 
that the pilot’s chances of bringing the balloon 
down in flames were almost doubled. 

“ Paulinier,” said George, “will you bring your 
trick air cavalry out this afternoon and protect me 
while I try my hand at blowing up a Boche bal- 
loon?” 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 183 

4 ‘ Surely/ ’ replied Paulinier. He was always 
ready for action. 

They found Captain Bonne in his office and told 
him what they wanted to do. 

“Why don’t you try that balloon south of Dam- 
villers late this afternoon f” he asked. “I’ll no- 
tify headquarters.” 

Paulinier called the pilots together and told 
them the plan of attack. George would fly at 
his right and Bob at his left. They would go 
toward Damvillers and attack from the west, hid- 
ing in the sun until they were ready to go down. 
Kernevez, whose new machine had arrived the 
day before, would “ride high” as usual and lead 
the last three planes. Paulinier and Bob were to 
follow down as though they were attacking, so 
that the German fire would be scattered between 
the three instead of being concentrated on George. 

George learned that it was always necessary to 
attack a balloon from the sunny side and to aim 
the bullets well up into the top of the bag. The 
sun heats the gas and makes it more inflammable 
on the sunny side and the hot gas has a tendency 
to rise to the top. 

It was after six when the machines took off. 
Paulinier led them west of Verdun and across 
the lines in a storm of “archies.” They flew over 


184 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Gercourt, where the boys had had their first fight, 
and turned abruptly east. 

As they crossed the Meuse, several “ archies’ ’ 
broke around them as a signal to the balloon crew 
that enemy aeroplanes were within the danger 
zone. Paulinier held the position in the sun until 
the last moment. 

George looked far below him and saw the bal- 
loon he was to attack. Then he glanced at Pau- 
linier ’s machine and saw the wings give the pre- 
paratory signal. He took hold of the lever that 
would close the shutters before his radiator, keep- 
ing his engine warm during the long dive of three 
thousand feet, and waited. 

Paulinier *s machine jumped and headed down. 
George yanked the lever closed and went “over 
the hump,” heading almost straight for the 
ground. He shut the motor half off and dis- 
covered that Paulinier was pulling away from 
him. Then he opened the throttle wide for a 
moment. 

A machine that will do one hundred and ten 
miles an hour in straight flying can travel at a 
terrific speed if it is headed nose down with the 
motor open. He gasped for air and wondered 
if the Spad would stand the pace that Paulinier 
was setting. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 185 

Another storm of 1 ‘ archies ’ ’ broke around them. 
One of them exploded under Bob and threw him 
from his course. He yanked the machine around 
and pulled the engine open wide. 

The balloon loomed larger and larger before 
them. George knew that the balloon crew on the 
ground was working frantically; men rushing to 
their gun posts, others working with the engines 
that would haul the balloon down. He pulled the 
trigger of his gun and saw several spurts of flame 
shoot ahead of him. 

“Wait — wait — wait,” he kept saying to himself, 
holding his fire until the last moment. 

He was vaguely conscious of streaks of smoke 
in the air — tracer bullets from the battery of 
machine guns on the ground. 

He pulled the trigger and looked over the wind 
shield at the course his bullets were taking. They 
were going low and as he corrected his aim he 
saw the two observers leap from the basket 
into space, trailing unopened parachutes behind 
them. 

The air seemed clouded with tracer bullets that 
swept by him. Would the balloon never burn? 
He gritted his teeth and kept straight on, watch- 
ing the flaming bullets from his gun disappear 
into the big bag in front of him. 


186 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Suddenly the entire world seemed to be swal- 
lowed in flames. He pulled back on his stick, let 
go the trigger, and “zoomed” up. As he flattened 
out he looked down and saw the balloon falling. 

It was a mass 
of red fire that 
left a long trail 
of black smoke 
in its wake. 

A minute later 
he was joined 
by Paulinier and 
Bob. Their 
machines were 
dancing about in 
the air, celebrat- 
ing his victory. 
They headed for 
Verdun and as 
they crossed the lines, Kernevez and his two pilots 
caught up with them. 

When they landed Bob rushed over to George 
and grabbed him by the shoulders. 

“You crazy, fighting fool,” he shouted. “My 
heart was in my throat. Do you know how close 
you came to that balloon f” 

“No,” he answered. “I haven’t any idea.” 



IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 187 

“So close that I thought you were going to 
ram it.” 

Paulinier came over to them. “Morgan,” he 
said, laughing, “if you ever do anything like that 
again I’ll shoot you myself.” 

“Did I come very close to it?” 

“Another second and you would have dived into 
it. Didn’t you realize how near you were to the 
thing when you turned off?” 

“Honestly, I haven’t an idea. The whole thing 
was like a dream. I simply saw that ugly look- 
ing thing ahead of me and I went for it. I was 
hypnotized. I suppose I would have gone straight 
into it if it hadn’t caught fire. The flames sud- 
denly shot up — it seemed as though they were 
right in front of my face — and then I pulled 
hack.” 

“George,” said Boh, “if you have any respect 
for my gray hairs please don’t attack any more 
balloons.” 

As they walked hack to the quarters they met 
Captain Bonne, who had come out to learn 
the result of George’s expedition. He was 
delighted. 

The next day when the boys landed after their 
morning patrol they found that Lieutenant Robert, 
who had been in Paris again, had returned to the 


188 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

squadron. He brought instructions from Colonel 
Casale that Bob was to begin training on the two- 
seater Spad. Further instructions would come 
later, he said. 

That afternoon the big Spad was rolled from 
the hangar and Bob went for a flight. It was 
not unlike the smaller machines, and he found it 
much less difficult to land. That evening at sunset 
his real training commenced. He took the ma- 
chine up just as it was becoming dusk, made a 
short flight, and landed. He repeated this five 
times and the last landing was made in darkness 
with no other light than the small electric 
searchlight mounted on the axle of the landing 
gear. 

He went up again the next night and practised 
landings until long after darkness. The third 
night he made a cross-country flight down to the 
point of the St. Mihiel salient and back to the 
field. The sensation of night flying was unpleas- 
ant at first. It was lonely business and he missed 
seeing the vast country beneath him. Eventually 
he became accustomed to it and expert at picking 
up landmarks. 

“It is like flying over a sea of ink,” he told 
George. One night he took George up with him 
and they circled over Yerdun. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 189 


Below them they could see the flash of guns 
and exploding shells. All along the line of the 
trenches they saw the flarelights — large rockets 
shot up by each side to illuminate No Man’s Land. 
It was a ghastly and impressive scene. 

That night when they returned, Roche lighted 
gasoline flares for them and they landed between 
two blazing strips. When Bob turned off the 
motor he was surprised to find the air filled with 
the dull roar of cannon fire. Captain Bonne came 
up as they stood listening. 

“Good landing,” he said. “Run along to the 
quarters, mes enfants, and get some sleep. You’ll 
need it.” 

He often called the men under him mes enfants 
— my children. It was a custom of Napoleon that 
became part of French army tradition. 

They went to the barracks, wondering what was 
to happen the next day. Paulinier was waiting 
for them. 

“What’s up?” asked Bob. 

“I don’t know exactly,” said Paulinier. “But 
I’ll make a guess that there will be some action 
tomorrow.” 

“What sort of action?” 

“Some more battle of Verdun, probably. I 
don’t know — I’m just guessing.” 


190 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

The noise of the artillery fire came in great 
waves of sound that made the thin walls of the 
barracks tremble. And through the roar of guns 
came the old familiar clatter of automobile trucks 
along the road. Men and ammunition were being 
rushed to Verdun. 

Instead of going to bed, the boys stood before 
the barracks watching the fierce glow that spread 
over the lines. Sleep was out of the question. 

The earth shook under the impact of that storm 
of explosives. The guns sought out everything 
German and destroyed it. Trenches were leveled 
with the ground, and entanglements were blown 
to pieces; machine-gun emplacements were up- 
rooted; dugouts were battered in. The German 
troops, bewildered by the ferocity of the attack, 
struggled blindly to escape. On every side they 
found the same fire of high explosive that ruined 
their shelters and the same dense hail of shrapnel 
that mowed them down. There was no escape. 

“When do we get into action ?” asked Bob. 

“First thing in the morning,” answered Pau- 
linier. 

They went to bed and caught little snatches of 
sleep during the two hours before the first call 
for patrol. The thunder of the barrage grew 
louder and louder. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 191 

Captain Bonne came into the mess room as they 
were eating breakfast. 

“How is Spad 98 feeling this morning ?” he 
asked. 

He was assured that Spad 98 was in a fighting 
mood. 

“I will take command of the first patrol, Pau- 
linier,” he said. 

“Yes, sir.” 

4 4 The second patrol, commanded by Lieutenant 
Robert, will take oft before we land. Y 9 U men 
will rest for an hour and a half after we return 
and then take off again under Paulinier’s com- 
mand. This will be the order of flight. ’ ’ He drew 


a 

T 

S- 

T 


4 4 Thorpe and Morgan will fly in positions two 
and three,” he said. “Paulinier will fly at four, 
Chanot and Nivelle at five and six, and Kernevez 


a diagram on the table. 

1 


, T 
T * 



192 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

at seven. Paulinier will keep his section above 
and behind mine. Does everyone understand V’ 
The pilots nodded their heads. 

“We will leave at once,” said the Captain. 


14 



HEAVY FIGHTING 

The eleven-mile strip of German defenses be- 
tween Avoconrt and Bezonvaux, just north of 
Verdun, was receiving the full force of the bar- 
rage fire, as Captain Bonne led his patrol toward 
the lines. The ground was obscured by a cloud 
of smoke and dust that hung over it. 

The work of obliterating the German lines be- 
fore the infantry attack was progressing rapidly. 
The boys could see that the barrage had moved 
to the northward, leaving desolation in its wake. 
Farther inside the German territory was another 
line of fire — a curtain fire that prevented any 
movement of troops. 

The German artillery had been ruined in the 
first few minutes of the barrage, and its reply was 
feeble. As the Spad 98 pilots crossed over the 
lines a few “archies” spattered about them. 


193 


194 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Above and on all sides they could see aeroplanes, 
but Captain Bonne did not linger to investigate. 
To the east they saw a fight. Two machines 
dropped in flames. 

Far in front of them they saw three black puffs 
of smoke and they realized that a German anti- 
aircraft gun had spotted some French plane. 
They stayed well up in the sun and watched anx- 
iously while they saw four black dots to the west 
dive down. A little later they made out the 
French machine. It was a big Letord, probably 
on a photographic mission. 

Captain Bonne swung around and placed his 
patrol above the Letord, which turned back toward 
the lines. The four dots above them loomed 
larger and from the silhouettes against the bright 
sky it could be seen that they were German planes. 
Their plan of attack had been spoiled by the pres- 
ence of the Spad 98 patrol and they loitered far 
above, watching their prey being taken back to 
safety. Captain Bonne made no effort to attack 
them, for, in doing so, he might have lost the Le- 
tord, which had valuable photographs to deliver. 

The “archies” followed them across the line. 
Above them they saw a cluster of planes and, not 
knowing whether they were German or French, 
Captain Bonne signaled the Letord to go down. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 195 

They lost altitude rapidly and left the Letord a 
few miles south of Verdun. It was flying close 
above the ground, just over the tree tops and mak- 
ing full speed for its field, where the photographs 
were to be developed and rushed to headquarters. 

The patrol turned back toward the lines, climb- 
ing rapidly. They were in the path of the hurri- 
cane of French shells and the air was so rough 
that the machines were tossed about like little 
boats in a heavy sea. 

Above them there was a patrol of ten machines 
slowly circling around. The white puffs of smoke 
told the pilots of Spad 98 that it was a German 
patrol. 

To the right they saw another Letord headed 
for the lines. It had the scant protection of two 
combat planes that bobbed around behind it. Cap- 
tain Bonne led his men back through the ‘ 1 archies ’ ’ 
and, once on the German side, they waited for the 
Letord to appear. The big machine was just 
clearing the heavy fire of shrapnel that followed 
it when the German patrol dived down to attack. 

Captain Bonne brought his patrol around and 
headed in for the fight. His pilots followed 
closely behind him, teeth set and their fingers itch- 
ing to clamp down on their triggers. 

Suddenly the big Letord swung to the right and 


196 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

limped back toward the lines. An “ archie’ ’ had 
torn away part of its right wing and had ruined 
one of its two motors. At that moment the Ger- 
man patrol closed in. A second later the Letord 
fluttered down toward the ground, spinning pon- 
derously. A few German bullets had ruined its 
slight chance of ever making a landing. One of 
the combat machines that had been at its heels 
broke into flames and headed down. The Spad 98 
patrol swung into the attack and the big fight 
was on. 

Bob dived and came up under the tail of a Ger- 
man plane. As the black crosses swept in front 
of his sights he pulled both triggers and saw the 
gray trail of tracer bullets go squarely into the 
center of the fuselage. The machine toppled over 
and went down. As Bob came about a blast of bul- 
lets passed him. He pulled brutally on his stick 
and sent his machine straight up. Two German 
planes were following. He yanked his machine 
into a renversement and attacked one of them 
from the side. Before he could see the effect of 
his bullets the other German plane was on his tail 
and shooting. 

He went into a tight ascending spiral and then 
when he saw no more tracer bullets he pulled out, 
hoping that he had gained altitude on the other 



He pulled both triggers 








199 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

machine. Instantly there came the crackle of a 
machine gun and more bullets passed him. He 
saw smoke blowing back from its lower right wing 
and he realized that his plane was on fire ! 

He slammed his machine into a wing-slip to 
the left, and as he did so he saw a Spad attack 
the German who had been following. The other 
German had disappeared. 

The wing-slip blew out the fire that had been 
eating away the fabric of his right wing, and 
when the smoke disappeared, he brought his ma- 
chine up on even keel. He looked about him and 
saw the sky filled with fighting aeroplanes. 

‘ 4 Some dog fight !” he said to himself as he 
pulled his machine up and started back into it. 

From the first moment of the fight George had 
been engaged with a single German. They 
manoeuvered around and around, each trying un- 
successfully to send bullets into the other’s plane. 
George went through his entire bag of tricks, but 
the German eluded each volley of bullets. He did 
it neatly, but no more neatly than George avoided 
the bullets that were shot at him. It was a per- 
fect duel, each pilot matching his skill and wits 
against the other’s. 

As Bob came back into the fight he saw the 
fourth German plane go down. From that moment 


200 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

the Germans began to disengage themselves. The 
fight had been unprofitable for them and threat- 
ened to become more so if they tried to stand their 
ground. The pursuit ended north of Damvillers 
and Captain Bonne once again collected his patrol. 

Each pilot anxiously counted the other ma- 
chines. They were all there, and when, after a 
minute or two, they had come into position, the 
patrol headed south. 

Captain Bonne suddenly began to lose altitude. 
Bob and George followed close behind, wondering 
if he had seen some German machine below. 

When they were close above the ground Captain 
Bonne leveled off and then, for the first time, the 
boys realized that Paulinier and his section had 
left them. Bob caught a glimpse of the four ma- 
chines far to the eastward. Captain Bonne swung 
around and started north. His machine was just 
clearing the tops of the trees. 

Suddenly he “ zoomed’ ’ up and dived down, fir- 
ing both his machine guns into the ranks of some 
German infantry on the road. The men broke and 
ran for cover. 

Bob and George spread out on each side of the 
Captain, searching for German troops on the 
march. From Sivry to Dun the three machines 
swept the road clear. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 201 


George dived on a procession of automobile 
trucks, giving the first of them the full fire from 
his guns. The truck ran into the ditch at the side 
of the road and turned over. The second truck 
rammed it and the third was in the wreck before 



it could he stopped. The crews from the other 
trucks jumped from their seats and ran for shel- 
ter, while George pulled his machine up, aiming 
his guns at the line of automobiles that stretched 
down the road before him. 

Bob reconnoitered far to the right of the Cap- 


202 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

tain and surprised a troop of cavalry that was 
standing in a small field. The result of his fire 
was chaos. The terror-stricken horses reared and 
plunged, throwing their riders and bolting in 
every direction. No need to waste bullets there, 
he decided. The horses would finish what he had 
begun. 

As the three machines came roaring into Dun 
the pilots saw four aeroplanes ahead of them. 
Soon they made out the Black Cat insignia of 
Spad 98. Paulinier and his pilots had arrived 
first and were busy shooting at the railroad sta- 
tion. 

The patrol re-grouped itself and started south’ 
again. Bob glanced at his watch and saw that 
one hour and thirty-five minutes had passed since 
they had left Souilly — and what an hour and 
thirty-five minutes it had been ! The Spads held 
gasoline for only two hours and fifteen minutes, 
and so Bob decided that they were homeward 
bound. 

Captain Bonne led them up rapidly toward the 
haze that stretched over the front. Above them 
and to the left they saw aeroplanes fighting. Be- 
low them the guns were still pounding. 

“The world has gone crazy,’ ’ said Bob. 

Captain Bonne led his men toward the fight at 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 203 

their left. The German machines saw them and 
immediately turned away. 

Once again they went through the “ archies’ ’ 
and came down over Verdun. Captain Bonne sig- 
naled “home” and his pilots sank hack in their 
seats, breathing deeply. For the first time that 
morning they became conscious of the fact that 
they had bodies, and that their bodies were tired. 
It seemed good to he able to relax their taut 
muscles and sail easily back to the field. 

Lieutenant Robert with his five machines close* 
behind him passed on his way to the front. The 
pilots in Captain Bonnet patrol waved and 
wished them success. 

On the field each man jumped out and inspected 
his machine. All of them bore bullet holes, some- 
times uncomfortably near the pilot’s seat. 

“That was a warm patrol,” commented Pauli- 
nier. “It’s a wonder that we’re all hack here.” 

“I’m dead-dog-tired,” said Bob. He leaned 
against the hangar and closed his eyes. “Call 
me, somebody, when we have to go out again. I’m 
going to sleep here.” 

“How many Boches did we get?” asked Captain 
Bonne. 

Each pilot told his story and it was decided that 
the patrol had “bagged four square-heads. ’ ’ Cap- 


204 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

tain Bonne had seen his man fall in flames; Bob 
had “ punctured’ ’ his man thoroughly and seen 
him topple over, apparently out of control; Ker- 
nevez had put another machine down in flames, 
and Nivelle had seen the wings of a plane he was 
attacking crumple up. It was a good day’s work 
— but the day was just commencing. 

None of the pilots wanted to talk about it. They 
felt exhausted and they needed no second urging 
from Captain Bonne to go to their rooms and get 
an hour’s sleep. 

When it came time for them to get up, the or- 
derlies served them bowls of strong coffee. They 
drank the coffee and silently pulled on their flying- 
clothes. On the field the motors were “ticking 
over” under the watchful eyes of Roche and his 
mechanics. Bullet holes had been patched, tanks 
filled, and adjustments made during the short time 
the machines had been on the ground. 

“Where are we going?” asked one of the pilots 
of Paulinier. 

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Wherever 
there’s fighting, I suppose. The Captain hasn’t 
given any orders.” 

Bob and George were given positions two and 
three again, which meant that they would fight 
with Paulinier. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 205 

“All set, men?” asked Paulinier. 

“All set.” 

The patrol took off and headed for Verdun. 
Half way between Verdun and the lines they met 
Robert ’s patrol coming back. One of the machines 
was missing. Another pilot of Spad 98 had died. 
They wondered who it was, which one of their 
friends had gone down in battle. They set their 
teeth and plunged into the fight, more relentless 
and more determined than ever before. 

Directly over their lines they found the fight 
for which they were looking. Six German combat 
planes lurked overhead, waiting for the moment 
to attack. As the Spad 98 patrol emerged from 
the cloud of “archies,” the German Fokkers 
turned down to meet them. 

Kernevez sent a stream of bullets from his ma- 
chine guns cutting across the paths of the pilots 
ahead of him. It was a signal to prepare for at- 
tack, but the signal was unnecessary, for every 
pilot was ready. The Fokkers swept down in per- 
fect formation and attacked in a group. Instantly 
the Spads swung up and out of range of their 
bullets. 

It was a fierce, cruel fight, with every man out 
to kill. They circled around and around, firing 
coolly and carefully. Nivelle was the first pilot 


206 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

to fall. A blast of bullets caught him squarely in 
the head and ended his fight without his realizing 
even that he was hit. It was the way all pilots 
wanted to die if death was to come to them. 
Nivelle was spared the agony of realizing that he 



must crash, as he plunged down. It was a fine 
way to go. 

A German plane fell in flames. It was Pauli- 
nier’s victory. Another German glided down and 
out of the fight. His engine had been damaged, 
and he was making a landing. 

Their manceuvers carried them back into Ger- 
man territory, and the fight continued. Another 
German plane went down, put out of action by 
Kernevez. 

Bob swung about for another attack, and as the 
German plane came into his sights, he pulled his 
triggers. Instantly he heard the rattle of machine 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 207 

guns behind him, and he pulled up to get out of 
the fire that was following him. 

His engine began to miss, and almost stopped. 
His throat became dry and he felt sick, when he 
realized that his motor was failing him. 

Below him he saw German territory, and he 
wondered if he would spend the rest of the war in 
some prison camp. 

A huge ball of fire shot past him. He did not 
know that it was the German machine that had 
just attacked him, and he didn ’t know that it was 
George’s victory. He knew only one thing — that 
he would rather die than be taken prisoner. 



MORE HEAVY FIGHTING 

Far ahead of him Bob saw the lines. That gray- 
cloud where the French shells beat unceasingly 
seemed hopelessly far away. His motor was 
coughing and sputtering. It would never last that 
far, he thought. 

The needle that showed the pressure in the gaso- 
line tank was wavering and so he turned on the 
gasoline from the little emergency tank. In- 
stantly the motor began to run better. 

He headed for the lines, praying that his re- 
serve supply of gasoline would last until he could 
reach French territory. The motor still ran 
erratically, jerking the plane through the air, hut 
it ran fast enough so that he was not forced to 
lose altitude. Gradually its speed became less and 
less. He was obliged to put the nose of his ma- 
chine down slightly to maintain flying speed. 

208 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 209 

The lines crawled nearer. He looked back and 
saw the fight still raging between the Spads and 
the Fokkers. 

Bob discovered that he had something else to 
make him worry. Would he ever be able to get 
through the French barrage and make a landing! 
He was constantly losing altitude and, unless his 
motor picked up, he would barely glide over the 
German trenches. If his motor failed him again 
for an instant, he would be a prisoner. 

He set his teeth and determined to go through 
the barrage if it cost him his life. Rather do that 
than be starved and beaten in some dirty prison 
camp. 

For a few moments his motor ran evenly and 
he was able to cover the small margin that re- 
mained between him and France before his emer- 
gency gasoline supply gave out. The motor 
stopped abruptly. 

Realizing that his one chance of getting through 
the barrage safely was in speed, Bob put the nose 
of his Spad down and shot for the ground. The 
noise of exploding shells was terrific. 

His machine was buffeted around from side to 
side by the rough air. The ground beneath him 
had been torn by so many shells that there was 
no spot on which he could land safely, even though 


210 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 
he got through the barrage. Then he realized that 
he was through the barrage ! No shells were ex- 
ploding ahead of him ! He was through ! 

The ground came up rapidly, and he prepared 
to land as best he could. Through the dust and 
smoke that filled the air he could see a jagged line 



running south. It was a trench, he decided, and 
prepared to land near it. 

In an instant he was skimming along above the 
rough ground. The machine slowly lost speed and 
sank down. There came a crash as the landing 
gear struck the rim of a shell hole; the plane 
wrenched about, stood on its nose for a second and 
then fell heavily. 

He was hanging head downward and when he 



IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 211 


pressed the belt clasp that released him from the 
plane he slid to the ground. 

The earth seemed to be trembling as he crawled, 
sick and dazed, from his wrecked Spad. Not one 
human being could he see as he gazed out over that 
barren, wasted land. On all sides of him the roar 
of the barrage continued. Overhead he heard the 
screech of shells as they passed. It was a desolate 
inferno of noise. 

“Hi!” Bob turned his head sharply and saw 
the eyes of a soldier staring at him over the edge 
of the trench. “Are you wounded?” asked the 
man in French. 

“No.” 

“Crawl over here on your stomach,” said the 
soldier. “Don’t stand up.” 

Boh crawled to the trench and slid down. 

4 4 Did you come through that barrage ? ’ ’ the sol- 
dier asked him. 

“Yes.” 

“It’s not possible.” 

“Well, it is possible, because I’ve just done it,” 
said Boh. 

“Then no one but an Englishman could do it,” 
remarked the soldier. 

“I’m not English,” Bob replied, “I’m Ameri- 


212 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“ American !” The Frenchman’s eyes opened 
wide. 

u Yes.” 

A German shell exploded, showering them with 
dirt. The Frenchman pulled at his arm and they 
started to the rear. Another shell exploded and 
Bob turned around in time to see the remains of his 
Spad flying through the air. The German shell 
had struck it squarely. 

“How far are we from the German lines'?” Bob 
asked. 

“There are no German lines,” replied the sol- 
dier. “They have been blown to nothing. Our 
troops haven’t started ahead yet. They are wait- 
ing for the artillery to break up the second 
trenches.” 

It was difficult to talk because of the noise, and 
so they plodded on. At last they came to a small 
dugout where an artillery officer sat at his tele- 
phone. 

“Take him back to number five,” the officer or- 
dered, “and tell the lieutenant that I said he is to 
be given a guide.” He appeared too busy to be 
surprised at Bob’s landing through the barrage. 

Following the soldier, Bob went through a maze 
of trenches that finally brought him to another 
telephone station. The Lieutenant in charge gave 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 213 


him a guide at once and he hurried on through 
more trenches, some of them underground, until 
at last they came to a gunpit where three 
1 1 seventy-fives 9 ’ were hammering at the German 
lines. 

The officer who sat at the telephone regulating 
the fire scarcely glanced up as Bob approached. 
He motioned to the guide to write what he had 
to say on a piece of paper. 

The men who were serving the guns were half 
naked, their bodies black with dirt and smoke and 
their eyes expressionless from exhaustion. Rhyth- 
mically their bodies swayed back and forth as 
they passed the shells up to the guns. The noise 
was deafening. 

The officer at / 

the telephone con- //y y' 

trolled his guns \ ^ 
by signals, and 
when signals were 
not sufficient he 

wrote messages on 
slips of paper that 
were rushed to 

the gun pointers. 

Bob saw him press the receivers of his telephone 
to his ears and strain to catch a message that was 



214 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

coming over the wires. Suddenly he held up four 
fingers and the gun pointers made an adjustment. 

Never for an instant did the beat of the guns 
vary. From that one gunpit thirty shots a minute 
were being thrown at the German defenses. And 
even at that speed, the ‘ ‘ seventy-fives ’ ’ were work- 
ing slowly. When pressed to the limit, each gun 
could fire twenty-seven shots a minute, or a total 
of eighty-one shots from the gunpit. There were 
thousands of such guns behind the French troops 
that day. 

The officer read the message written by the 
guide. He looked up and smiled, giving Bob his 
hand as he did so. Then he wrote on the paper 
an order to have Bob escorted back to another 
point. 

At that moment a soldier standing near him 
plucked Bob by the sleeve and pointed up. Bob 
looked and saw three machines flying southward. 
They were unmistakably Spads. The soldier 
handed him a pair of field glasses and he distin- 
guished the insignia of Spad 98 on the sides of the 
planes. 

Three machines returned out of the six that 
had left the field two hours before! Bob won- 
dered if George was with them. 

At last Bob and his guide emerged from the 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 215 

trenches and walked behind a fence made of 
camouflaged cloth. They came to an ammunition 
dump presently and Bob was given a seat on a 
small cart which carried him back to a larger 
ammunition dump. Here he was put on an auto- 
mobile truck. 

The driver of the truck apparently wished to 
show an aviator that aeroplanes are not the only 
things that travel fast, for he tore through the 
city of Yerdun and down the road to Souilly at a 
terrific rate. 

It was nearly two o’clock when Bob alighted 
from the truck in front of his barracks. Canet, 
his mechanic, was the first to see him. With a 
shout of delight he threw both arms about Bob 
and hugged him. 

“You are supposed to be dead, mon vieux,” he 
said. 

“Not this time,” Bob replied. “Where’s 
George Morgan?” 

“In the barracks.” 

With a wave of his hand to the other “mechs,” 
Bob hurried into the barracks and found George. 

“You!” exclaimed George. For a moment it 
was all he could say. Then he hugged him and 
gave a shout that brought the other pilots run- 
ning. 


216 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“We thought we saw you go down in flames, ” 
said George. “It must have been Chanot. What 
happened to you? Where did you go?” 

“A square-head punctured my engine and I 
landed through the barrage just back of the 
French lines. What happened to the others? 
Where’s Paulinier?” 

“Wounded. Chanot and Nivelle were brought 
down. ’ ’ 

“Is Paulinier badly wounded?” 

“No. A bullet caught him in the right arm. 
He came all the way back here and made a landing 
with his left hand.” 

‘ ‘ Pretty work ! ’ 9 exclaimed Bob. 4 ‘ Good for old 
Paulinier.” 

“Where were you when your engine was put 
out of business?” asked George. 

“A little north of Haraumont, I think.” 

“Then it must have been ” commenced 

George. “I’ll bet anything that I got the German 
who did it. I sent a load of bullets into him just 
as he was attacking a Spad. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Good enough ! Who else got Germans ? ’ ’ 

“Paulinier is sure of one and he thinks he got 
another. Either Nivelle or Chanot got one. Ker- 
nevez put one down and so did I.” 

“Wow!” exclaimed Bob. “I guess that outfit 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 217 

of square-heads feels sick today. Five out of 
six!” 

At that moment Captain Bonne came into the 
room. Roche had told him of Bob’s return. The 
pilots stood at attention, hut Captain Bonne was 
not looking for military courtesy. He gave Bob 
a mighty whack on the back. 

“ Bravo!” he shouted, and immediately asked 
him to repeat his story. 

“My boy,” he said, when Bob had finished, 
“with your luck I could be a Napoleon. It was 
one chance in a thousand.” 

“I’m sorry I lost the machine,” said Bob. 

“Mon Dieu !” answered the Captain. “Remem- 
ber this : there are plenty of machines, But there 
is only one Thorpe. Never mention machines to 
me. With your luck you don’t need an aeroplane. 
You could fly on a piece of board. I’ll give you 
Paulinier’s machine. How do you feel?” 

“Fine.” 

“Fine enough to go on another patrol?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. We’ll leave in an hour.” 

Lieutenant Robert’s patrol had left for the 
front just before Bob returned to the squadron. 
In his first patrol he had lost Virot, but it had 
cost the Germans three planes. Virot had died in 


218 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“full out” fighting; he had attacked two German 
planes, bringing one of them down. Another Ger- 
man sent him down at almost the same moment. 
Lieutenant Robert got the German a few seconds 
later. 

“Has Paulinier been taken to a hospital?” 
asked Bob. 

“No,” replied George. “He raised a terrible 
howl when Captain Bonne suggested it, and so the 
Captain fixed it with the doctor for him to stay 
here. They’ve put a cot in the Captain’s office 
for him. It is fairly quiet there.” 

“Can I see him?” 

“Better ask the Captain,” said George. They 
received the Captain’s permission and went to the 
little office. It was more a living-room than an 
office and they found Paulinier living in luxury — 
at least it was luxury for the front. 

“Hello, Bob,” said Paulinier. “How in the 
world did you get back here?” 

“It seems to me,” replied Bob, “that the ques- 
tion is, how in the world did you get back 
here?” 

“That was nothing to sing about,” replied 
Paulinier. 4 ‘ The bullet went through my forearm, 
but it didn’t touch the bone. I lost a little blood — 
that’s all.” 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 219 

The boys stayed a few minutes with Paulinier 
and then went back to their room. They were ex- 
hausted, but there was too much excitement in the 
air for sleep. When the call for patrol came they 
were still talking. 

With Captain Bonne leading, they swept around 
the lines in search of German machines. The Ger- 



man pilots had apparently received enough pun- 
ishment for the day, for there was not an enemy 
plane to be seen. The French attack had come as 
a complete surprise and they had not had time to 
muster their crack squadrons on the Verdun front. 
A half-dozen French squadrons, such as Spad 98, 
had cleaned the skies of German aeroplanes. 

The German pilots had put up a good fight and 
there was no French pilot who denied them that 
praise. They were plucky, but they had been 
beaten to the ground. 

For the next two days the pilots of Spad 98 


220 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

worked unceasingly, looking for enemy planes 
and harassing the enemy troops. On the third 
day, August 20, 1917, the roar of the barrage took 
on a different note and the French troops went 
over the top and across the shell-torn land into 
German territory. Pressing forward astride the 
Meuse they captured all of the enemy fortifica- 
tions between Avocourt and Bezonvaux. That 
night the French communique announced to the 
world that the heights of Verdun had been recap- 
tured. 

The five days following the first advance of the 
French troops put the pilots to a heart-breaking 
test of endurance. From dawn until sunset they 
alternated patrols; they fought, machine-gunned 
troops, returned for more gasoline and ammuni- 
tion, and went out again into the carnage. Slowly 
the Germans recovered from the first shock of the 
French assault and mustered new squadrons of 
air fighters to struggle for supremacy in the skies. 
German artillery was rushed to the battle and 
replied to the French guns. 

New pilots appeared at Spad 98 to fill the places 
of those who had fallen. Patrol formations were 
rapidly recast and the fight continued. Sordet 
and Tourneur had been killed and Kernevez had 
been wounded. Bob had taken Kernevez ’s re- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 221 

sponsible position as leader of the rear section of 
the patrol, and George was flying at Captain 
Bonne’s right. Each of the boys had a new vic- 
tory to his credit. 

Paulinier, well enongh to be np and about the 
field, but not well enough to fly, became wolfish 
and disagreeable. He swore that he could fly and 
that he would fly. He insulted Captain Bonne 
when he was given strict orders against flying. 
And Captain Bonne, laboring under the responsi- 
bility of commanding the squadron through the 
battle, forgave him because he knew it was simple 
devotion to the cause of France and the honor of 
Spad 98. Paulinier, the last of his original quota 
of pilots, was willing to fight with his right arm 
bound to his side. Captain Bonne felt more like 
hugging than reprimanding him. 

Crossing the lines that afternoon, they encoun- 
tered a wrathful, sweeping fire of “archies.” New 
batteries of anti-aircraft guns had been brought 
into position. A black cloud of exploding shells 
surrounded the patrol as it sped northward. 

The fight for which the pilots were looking was 
not long in coming. Eight Fokkers came up from 
beneath to challenge the six Spads. Captain 
Bonne gathered his patrol in close formation and 
dived to the attack. 


222 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Bob tried his machine guns. Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta; 
they were working well. He selected a German 
plane to pounce upon and braced himself for the 
battle of his life. 



BOB CARRIES A SPY TO GERMANY 

Bob attacked and fired his first volley too low. 
Before he could correct his aim, the German had 
swung around and was replying. Bob dodged 
and manceuvered for position, but the German 
was equally good at the game of dodging and he 
kept well out of range. He, too, manceuvered for 
position. 

They went up, down and around, neither of 
them succeeding in covering the other with his 
guns. It was a fantastic battle without a shot 
fired, after the first volleys. And as the seconds 
sped past, each became more determined to end 
it in victory. 

Bob realized that he was in battle with a Ger- 
man who had admirable skill at his command. 
One poorly calculated movement would send him 
223 


224 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

down. Each man fought for victory, but he 
fought for his own life as well. 

As Bob maneuvered he saw another Fokker 
coming into the fight and he realized that he stood 
a poor chance of winning against the two enemy 
planes. It would be certain death. 

He wheeled about and faced the German, know- 
ing that it would be the last attack he could make 
before the other plane got into action. The Spad 
and the Fokker approached each other head-on, 
both pilots firing. Bob heard bullets ripping 
through his wings, but he kept his course regard- 
less of them. He was determined to send the Ger- 
man down, even if it meant collision and death 
for them both. 

His fingers were clamped on his triggers and 
his two guns were sending forth a spray of bul- 
lets as he sat breathlessly waiting the outcome. 
Then, just when collision seemed inevitable, he 
saw a burst of flame ahead of him. He yanked on 
his stick, “zoomed” and looked back, watching the 
German fall. The machine was a mass of flames. 

Instantly he looked about him for the other 
Fokker and found that it had been intercepted in 
its attack by a Spad. He wouldn’t have had the 
second Fokker against him, after all. His throat 
became dry when he realized how nearly his ef- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 225 

forts to avoid that unequal fight had come to cost- 
ing him his life, and he looked regretfully after 
the ball of fire plunging toward the ground. The 
German had been a clean fighter and a good pilot. 

The fight drifted southward and over the lines. 
Bob joined a melee of four machines — two Spads 
and two Fokkers. The two Germans, seeing they 
were outnumbered, broke for home and the other 
Fokkers followed. 

The patrol re-grouped itself and 4 ‘counted 
noses.’ ’ Every machine was present and the 
Germans had lost three Fokkers. 

When, after an hour of scouting, the pilots 
landed at Souilly, they were greeted by Lieuten- 
ant Robert. He presented Captain Bonne with a 
telegram, which caused the Captain to smile con- 
tentedly as he read it. He motioned the pilots to 
come around him. 

“I am instructed by this telegram,” he said, 
“to thank the pilots of Spad 98 for the services 
rendered during the attack. General Headquar- 
ters informs me that other combat squadrons have 
been moved up to replace us and that for the next 
three days we are relieved from duty. Also, the 
General commanding the attack is pleased to in- 
form us that the squadron is awarded the four- 
rag ere of the Croix de Guerre. That is all.” 


226 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

A shout went up from the pilots and the mechan- 
ics who had gathered to hear the news. 

6 ‘To bed, mes enfants, to bed,” roared Captain 
Bonne. “We shall sleep for fifty hours.” 

Late the next morning the pilots tumbled from 
their beds, their eyes bulging with sleep. It 
seemed good to be alive; good to be able to sit 
down at lunch without the prospect of going im- 
mediately into the fight. During the night the bar- 
rage fire had gradually decreased until the roar 
became a distant rumble. The battle was over 
and the heights of Verdun were safely in French 
possession once again. 

While the mechanics overhauled their Spads, 
the pilots rested and figured the results of their 


efforts. They had 
sent ten German 
planes to certain 
destruction and 
probably six more 
had been put out 
of the fight with 
the pilots wound- 



ed. Set against those figures were five pilots of 
Spad 98 killed and two wounded. They were vic- 
torious; the black cat of their insignia had sunk 
her claws deep in the German eagle. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 227 

Bob painted a picture — with aeroplane paints 
supplied by Roche — of the cat holding the eagle 
by the throat with its front paws, while it 
scratched the feathers out with its hind paws. The 
picture was labeled “Verdun, August, 1917,” and 
the cat was credited with the words, “Comme il 
est dure ! — What a tough one!” It was hung in 
the mess room where visitors might admire Spad 
98 ’s glories in war and art. 

The four rag ere which had been awarded the 
squadron was a shoulder strap woven in the colors 
of the War Cross and signified that Spad 98 had 
been cited in orders for its brilliant work during 
the attack. Beside this distinction, there would 
be various awards of medals, Paulinier told the 
boys. He had recovered control of his temper and 
had apologized to the Captain. 

“Every man who brought down a Boche dur- 
ing the attack will probably receive a palm for his 
War Cross,” he explained. “It is almost impos- 
sible to confirm victories during an attack, and so 
they issue them on a general citation for service. 
You boys should receive a couple of palms. The 
Captain recommended you for them, but they 
haven’t come through yet.” 

“Why ‘a couple of palms’ f ” asked Bob. 

“One for the Boche you brought down on your 


228 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

first patrol. You and Kernevez will each get a 
palm for that, and George gets a palm for his bal- 
loon. And then you’ll each get another palm for 
the attack.” 

“And what do you get 1 !” 

“The Medaille Militaire, probably,” said 
Paulinier. 

“I’d like to get that!” exclaimed Bob. 

“You will, ’ ’ replied Paulinier. ‘ 4 The only thing 
that stands between you and the Military Medal is 
time. Stick to it and you will have one before 
winter comes.” 

The Medaille Militaire is a highly prized deco- 
ration that can be awarded only to soldiers 
below the rank of officer, except for Gen- 
erals. It was usually given to pilots who became 
aces. 

Paulinier ’s prophecy was as good as fact. Two 
days later the entire squadron, officers, pilots, and 
mechanics, met in formation before the hangars 
while the men who had brought down Germans 
were decorated. Each pilot was dressed in his 
most resplendent uniform and it made a gay scene 
as they stood at attention, waiting for the bits of 
ribbon and metal that had been so splendidly 
earned. 

After the ceremony was over Bob saw the Cap- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 229 

tain motion to him. Together they walked away 
from the crowd. 

“A friend of yours wants to see you in Paris/ ’ 
said the Captain. 

“A friend of mine?” asked Boh in astonish- 
ment. 

“Yes — Colonel Casale.” 

“Oh!” Bob looked at him inquiringly. It 
seemed months since he had been practising on 
the big Spad. All thoughts of spy trips had left 
his head in the work and hurry of the attack. 

“You will leave tonight,” said the Captain. 
“Of course you’re not to mention the reason to 
anyone. ’ ’ 

“I understand, sir,” replied Bob. “When 
should I he ready to go?” 

“I’ll send you in my car to Bar-le-Duc. Be 
ready at eight o’clock.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

Bob found George in the barracks and broke the 
news to him. 

“Why in the world are you going to Paris?” 
asked George in astonishment. 

1 6 W ell, it ’s this way, old fellow, ’ ’ said Boh. ‘ 4 If 
anyone else asked me I would invent some 
yarn for them, but to you I’ll just say I can’t 
tell.” 


230 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“Ah, I understand.’ ’ 

At eight o’clock that night Bob stepped into 
Captain Bonne’s car and was whisked away to 
Bar-le-Duc. Early the next morning he arrived 
in Paris and went to a hotel. Then, following the 
instructions given him by Captain Bonne, he noti- 
fied Colonel Casale by messenger of his where- 
abouts. There was nothing to do but wait. 

It was shortly after one o’clock that afternoon 
when a knock came at his door. He opened it and 
found Colonel Casale. 

“Well, my young friend,” said the Colonel, “we 
meet again.” He entered briskly and locked the 
door behind him. “And now for business.” 

He spread a map on the table and pulled a chair 
up so that Bob could sit at his left. 

“Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock,” he said, 
“you will be sitting on the second bench on your 
right just outside the Neuilly gate. You know 
where it is?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“A gray limousine will drive past and stop just 
ahead of you. Get in it. At a certain point along 
the route the car will stop again and another man 
will get in. Don’t talk with him. You will be 
taken directly to your field at Souilly, arriving 
there shortly after eleven o’clock. Your aero- 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 231 




232 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

plane will be ready for you. You will fly to this 
point, land and leave your man.” 

With his pencil he pointed to a spot on the map 
just west of a town called Marville, which was 
well inside the German lines. 

1 1 There will be some moon shining and you will’ 
be able to find the field without difficulty. Look 
at these pictures and get its shape well in mind.” 

He pulled several pictures from his pocket and 
Bob studied them. 

1 ‘ They were taken by an observation plane sev- 
eral weeks ago and, according to a message I re- 
ceived today, the field is in good condition. Here’s 
the message.” He opened a little square of paper 
about the size of a postage stamp. “ Carrier 
pigeon brought it, ’ 5 he explained briefly. 6 ‘ It says 
that the field is in good condition, but that at the 
north end there are some telegraph lines. Land 
well down toward the south end. It ’s good, even 
ground. Leave the field just as soon as your man 
is out of the machine and return to Souilly. That 
is all. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Repeal my instructions, please.” 

Bob repeated them without fault. Colonel Ca- 
sale rapidly gathered up his papers and maps. 

“I’ll see you soon again,” he said, putting out 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 233 


his hand. “ There is nothing yon want to ask!” 

“I’d like to know what became of onr friend, 
Meyer,” said Boh. 

“ Disappeared,” answered the Colonel. ‘ 4 Per- 
haps he’s still in Spain. No one knows.” With 
that the Colonel slipped out the door and Bob was 
alone. In his mind he went over his instructions 
again and again. 

The next night at Souilly, George, Paulinier, 
and Roche were waiting on the field at eleven 
o’clock. A limousine drove up and two men, 
dressed in the flying-clothes they had found in the 
car, stepped out. They walked to the Spad and 
climbed in. It was done rapidly and in silence. 
The pilot, however, found time to give George a 
good dig in the ribs. 

The Spad raced down the field and took off. 
Those on the ground saw it flash in the faint moon- 
light as it turned and headed for the lines. In a 
few seconds it was lost in the darkness. 

Far below him Bob saw the lines where the guns 
flashed and winked on the black ground. He could 
make out the faint contour of the Bois-de-Merles, 
just to the right of Damvillers, and headed over it. 
Twenty minutes later he made out Marville and 
made a detour to the west to avoid passing over 
the town. 


234 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Straining his eyes he searched the ground for 
the wedge-shaped field in which he was to land. 
At last he found it, but before landing he com- 
pared it carefully with his memory of the pictures 
Colonel Casale had shown him. There could be 
no doubt about it. He had the right field. 

Shutting oft his motor, he spiraled down silently 
into enemy country. 



MEYER COMES BACK 

Bob judged his landing nicely and came into the 
field, just clearing the tops of the trees at the 
southern end. Before the machine had stopped 
rolling, his passenger was poised on the edge of 
his cockpit ready to jump. 

Bob turned, saw him spring to the ground, and 
then, with a parting wave of his hand, he pulled 
open the throttle and took otf. An instant later 
he jumped the Spad over the telegraph wires at 
the north end of the field and turned toward the 
lines. 

The perilous mission had been performed so 
easily and rapidly that he felt there must be some- 
thing more to it. “I suppose,’ ’ he mused, as his 
Spad tore through the night, “that it’s easy when 
it’s easy and terribly hard when it isn’t easy.” 

He fell to thinking of home and his people. How 
235 


236 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

strange it was that he should be far up in the air 
at night, carrying spies from France to Germany. 
What tales he would have to tell when he returned 
— if he did return. There was always that to be 
considered. He forced the thought from his mind 
and began to picture the big house in which he had 
lived until he left for France. He could see it 
distinctly, and there was Rip, his Airedale, on the 
veranda, waiting for him. He smiled as he 
thought of Rip, wild with delight, greeting his 
return. 

Bob was abruptly startled from his reverie by 
seeing another aeroplane between him and the 
moon. An instant later he saw the black crosses 
on its big planes. It was a German bombing ma- 
chine ! 

Instinctively he prepared to attack, and then he 
remembered that he had no machine guns on his 
big Spad. The machine was used solely for night 
flying and the guns had been taken off to make it 
lighter. 

“Oh, what a chance !” he muttered. 

The German plane flew serenely on with its load 
of bombs. Bob followed it, hiding in the dark- 
ness. The speed of his machine was so much 
greater that he performed figure S’s in order to 
keep behind it. Had he been armed, Bob could 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 237 


have brought the German down with one burst of 
bullets — it would have been too easy. 

4 4 The chance of a lifetime,” he said to himself, 
and then he added in an explosive tone, “ Missed !” 
It was Roche who had taken the guns from the 
Spad, and Bob began to lay plans for taking 
Roche up for a flight and dumping him over- 
board. 

The more he thought of his lost opportunity, 
the angrier he became. The sight of the big Ger- 



man plane enraged him. He thought of ramming 
it, and then he began to wonder if he did not have 
something he could throw— a monkey wrench or a 
pair of pliers, anything. It would make him feel 
better. The Spad carried no tools and everything 
in the plane was tightly fastened. 

Suddenly his hand touched the swinging bowl 
of his compass. He braced himself and pulled. 


238 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

The screws that held the rack of the compass tore 
out from the wood. He opened his throttle, 
yanked the Spad up and over the German ma- 
chine. As he flashed past, he heaved the compass 
down. 

In an instant the German was lost in the dark- 
ness, for Bob no longer had the advantage of the 
moon. He circled around several times, but could 
see nothing. 

The absurdity of attacking a German machine 
with a compass suddenly struck him and he burst 
out laughing. He howled with laughter. How 
could he ever explain the loss of the compass to 
Roche? It would be the joke of the year, and the 
joke would be on him. But it was too good, he 
decided, to keep to himself. 

The lines with their twinkling guns and flare 
lights passed under him. The sullen and familiar 
“crumph” of “archies” struck his ears and he 
realized that the French gunners, supposing him 
to be one of the raiding Germans, were firing at 
him. He turned on his landing light and the shells 
stopped. 

Soon he was over Verdun and headed for home. 
Roche lit no flares to aid him in landing, for the 
lights would have been too good a guide for the 
Boche planes. He made out the field and then, by 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 239 

switching his motor on and off, signaled that he 
was about to land. 

George was the first one to greet him as he 
taxied up. 

“How did it go?” he asked. 

“Fine,” answered Bob. “Nothing to it. Sim- 
plest thing I’ve ever done.” Then he thought of 
the compass and laughed. 

“What are you laughing at?” asked George. 

“Come here, Paulinier,” said Bob. “I want 
you to hear this and interpret for Roche. I really 
shouldn’t tell it, but it’s too good to be lost.” 

He told them the full story of his return trip; 
how he had followed the German plane and how, 
in a wild rage, he had torn the compass from the 
machine. Roche sat down abruptly on the ground 
and howled when he told of the attack. Paulinier 
and George leaned against the Spad and laughed 
until they were weak. 

“Come on,” said Paulinier. “You must report 
to the Captain. This yarn is too good to hold over 
until tomorrow.” 

Captain Bonne was equally amused. “The next 
time you go spy-carrying I send you up with guns, 
bombs, and hand grenades,” he said. 

Conversation was interrupted by the noise of 
anti-aircraft cannons. 


240 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“Here’s one/’ said the Captain, grabbing his 
hat and stepping outdoors. The others followed 
him and were joined a moment later by the pilots 
and mechanics who had been sleeping. They went 
to a long trench which had been dug as a shelter 
during bomb raids and climbed in. 

Above them they heard the “whir-r-r-r-r” of 
motors, punctuated by the explosion of “archies.” 



Presently the noise of the motors stopped and a 
few seconds later they heard the whistling of a 
bomb as it plunged down. 

Those who had their eyes over the edge of the 
trench — and human curiosity was that strong in 
most of them — saw a livid burst of flame on the 
field. There came the noise of the explosion. It 
was followed by the whistling of bombs and more 
explosions. In the tumult of sound could be heard 
the “archies” exploding about the machine. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 241 


“ A pretty mess that field will be/’ said Pauli- 
nier, as they climbed out of the trench. The Ger- 
man machine, having “ peddled its eggs,” was re- 
treating for the lines. 

The field was a “ pretty mess.” Its smooth sur- 
face was scarred by six large holes where the 
bombs had fallen. No patrol left until late the 
next afternoon, because there was no clear run- 
way for the machines. A crew of Chinese laborers 
worked all day filling in the holes and smoothing 
the surface. None of the machines was badly 
damaged, though several bore the marks of 
bomb splinters and stones thrown by the 
explosions. 

Two days later Captain Bonne sent for Bob. 
“Paris again,” he said. “My car will take you 
to Bar-le-Duc at eight o ’clock. ’ 9 

“Very good, sir,” replied Bob. 

“And, by the way,” said the Captain, “Colonel 
Casale wants you to go to a different hotel each 
time. Report to him by messenger, just as you 
did before.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Bob started to leave the office, but Captain 
Bonne called him back. 

“I forgot to tell you that you have been pro- 
moted to sergeant— both you and Morgan. The 


242 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

papers came through this morning. I am recom- 
mending both of you for adjutants now.” 

An adjutant is the highest grade non-commis- 
sioned officer in the French army, and the boys 
were naturally delighted with the news. The same 
mail that brought their promotions to sergeants 
brought the promotions of Paulinier and Kernevez 
to adjutants. Kernevez was still in the hospital 
recovering from the bullet that had gone through 
his stomach, and the pilots expressed their regrets 
that he could not be present for the celebration 
dinner that night. 

But, as Paulinier said, “ Leave it to the little 
Breton ape — he can smell food six miles away.” 

At four o’clock that afternoon Kernevez, his 
red face a trifle paler, hut still beaming, drove up 
in an automobile with the Colonel commanding 
aviation in the Verdun sector. 

The Colonel presented his compliments to Cap- 
tain Bonne and notified him that he had come to 
decorate certain pilots. Once again the squadron 
met in formation before the hangars and the pilots 
were awarded War Crosses with palms for their 
services during the attack. Bob and George re- 
ceived palms and both Paulinier and Kernevez 
received the Military Medal. 

“Look at me, son,” said Boh, when the boys 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 243 

were in their room. “Pm all decorated like a 
prize horse.” 

“Glorious and wonderful / ’ said George, “but 
no more glorious and wonderful than George Mor- 
gan. Look at me.” He turned around for inspec- 
tion. 

Both boys were wearing their “trick” uniforms 
— dark blue with silver buttons, and decorated 
with silver wings at the collars. Over their left 
shoulders they wore the four rag ere of green and 
red and on their left breasts were the War 
Crosses, each bearing a star and two palms. 

Dinner that night was a joyful and riotous af- 
fair. Kernevez, propped up with pillows, sat at 
one end of the table and Paulinier at the other. 
Speeches were made and were loudly applauded. 
Kernevez was induced to tell his hospital expe- 
riences. 

“And the funny part about it is that most of 
it’s true,” said Paulinier to Bob as Kernevez told 
how he was running the hospital. The pilots were 
whooping with laughter. “Pll bet he owns the 
place by now. Did you see him coming riding up 
with the Colonel? Would the Colonel have gone 
to that trouble for anyone else in the squadron? 
No fear — not for anyone except Kernevez.” 

When eight o ’clock came Bob regretfully 


244 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

slipped away, took his satchel, and got in the 
Captain’s car. 

It was late the next afternoon before Colonel 
Casale rapped at his door in a Paris hotel. Bob 
opened the door and the Colonel raced in at his 
usual gait. 

“It’s very good to see you again,” said Colonel 
Casale. “Did your first trip go all right?” 

“Yes, sir. It was very easy.” 

“Ah, is that so? Tell me, young man, you 
didn’t happen to see any German bombing planes 
that night, did you?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Bob, and he grinned in spite 
of his efforts to keep a straight face. 

4 ‘ Ah-ha, ’ ’ said the Colonel. ‘ ‘ Tell me about it. ’ ’ 

Bob told his story of attacking the German 
plane with a compass. 

“Very, very interesting,” remarked Colonel 
Casale. He paused for a minute and appeared to 
be in deep thought. “You know,” he continued, 
“people say that you pilots are half crazy. Some- 
times I agree with’ them, but I never cease to re- 
gret that there aren’t more of you just as crazy.” 
He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “This 
is from one of my men in Germany. He says that 
a German bomber landed back of their lines with 
its propeller broken. The pilot claimed that he 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 245 

was attacked while crossing the lines by a French 
machine that suddenly flashed over him. At first, 
the report says, the pilot’s officers were inclined 
to doubt his story, but on examining the machine 
they found marks left by the implement used in 
the attack. They are entirely mystified by the 
French pilot’s tactics and a commission is making 
an examination of all the evidence to determine 
the means of attack.” 

Bob was too astounded to make a reply. Colonel 
Casale chuckled and slapped him on the back. 

“I can imagine that commission of Herr Pro- 
fessors scratching their heads and working out 
fine theories,” he said. “It’s almost too funny 
to be true. I’m going to give that to the news- 
papers in a couple of weeks.” 

When Colonel Casale finished laughing he 
turned to Bob and said: “It really wasn’t neces- 
sary for you to come all the way to Paris, but I 
wanted to see you. I thought you might have 
some connection with that business. Next Friday 
night — two days from today, that is — I want you 
to go to the same field and pick up your man. 
Leave the field at eleven o’clock. You can stay in 
Paris until then, if you like.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Bob replied, “I would like 
to stay until tomorrow night.” 


246 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“Oh, by the way,” said the Colonel as he was 
preparing to leave, “ Meyer was seen in Spain; 
once in Madrid and once in a little seacoast town. 
He disappeared suddenly and we haven’t been 
able to locate him since.” 

“Do you think he has returned to France?” 
Bob asked. 

“Possibly. We’ll get him eventually.” 

The next morning Bob went to the office of the 
American Air Service and found the Major with 
whom he had talked before going to the front. 

“Well, you’re coming up in the world, aren’t 
you?” said the Major when he saw the Sergeant’s 
stripes and the palms on Bob’s Croix de Guerre . 

“A little,” Bob admitted. 

He asked about changing to the American 
service and found that conditions were slightly 
improved. No aeroplanes were coming from 
America, but the French government had agreed 
to provide planes if the Americans would provide 
pilots and mechanics. The Major told Bob that 
he might expect to be called for service under the 
American flag within two months. 

“That’s good news,” said Bob. “I like it with 
the French well enough, but I’d rather be in my 
own uniform.” 

That night he took the train for Bar-le-Duc and 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 247 


arrived at the squadron the next morning. He 
immediately found Captain Bonne and told him 
the outcome of his night attack on the German 
bomber. Also he obtained the Captain’s permis- 
sion to have a machine gun mounted on his Spad. 

When eleven o’clock came Bob climbed in his 
big Spad and took off. It was a dark night and 



there was a feeling of rain in the air. He opened 
the throttle wide and started for the field at Mar- 
ville with the least possible delay, hoping to beat 
the rain which might make landing in German ter- 
ritory more dangerous. 

He began losing altitude long before he could 
see the field. Finally, when the triangular block 


248 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

of ground came into sight, lie slipped quietly down 
over the trees and landed. 

As his machine came to a stop he looked around 
quickly, his hand on the throttle ready to send the 
Spad shooting forward at the least sign of a trap. 
He saw a figure emerge from the bushes and run 
toward him. The man waved his hand as he ap- 
proached. 

Bob waited as the spy clambered over the side 
of the machine. He breathed more easily when 
he pulled the throttle open and felt the Spad in 
motion again. 

Raindrops came stinging against his face like 
pebbles. He put his face close to the windshield 
and headed for Souilly. There came a distant 
rumble that puzzled him until he realized that it 
was thunder. Lightning flashed, revealing the 
ground far beneath him. It was a ghostly scene. 
More flashes of lightning came, then a torrent of 
rain beat against them. The propeller drove the 
drops back like bullets. Bob registered a fervent 
hope that Roche would be prompt with the flares. 
No danger of Boche planes on such a night. 

The lines passed under them, and then Verdun. 
Guiding his plane more by sense of direction than 
by anything he could see on the ground, Bob 
turned south toward Souilly, straining his eyes 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 249 

to catch the first signal flash on the field. There 
it was — a tongue of flame that stuck up from the 
ground, wavering and swaying. Bob cut off his 
motor and glided down. 

The land below him was a mass of black; 
hangars, barracks, ground, and trees all merged 
into one. As he came nearer the field he flashed 
his light as a signal. Instantly the two long lines 
of flame sprang up, illuminating the field. 

He entered the lane of fire and brought his ma- 
chine to the ground. Another burst of lightning 
showed him the hangars and the waiting limousine 
as he taxied up. 

When the machine stopped the spy jumped out 
and went directly to the limousine. Bob saw him 
get in. The man sitting with the driver ran to 
the front of the car and cranked it. Almost before 
he stepped away the limousine lurched forward. 

Another flash of lightning came, and for the first 
time Bob saw the face of the man he had brought 
from Germany. It was Meyer ! 



MEYER REACHES THE END OF HIS ROPE 

Bob shouted to the driver of the car, but it was 
too late. The big limousine rolled down the road, 
disappearing in the darkness. 

“It was Meyer !” exclaimed Bob, breathlessly. 
No one on the field understood him except George. 

Bob jumped into the Spad, twirled the starting 
magneto, and the motor answered. Before any of 
them could delay him by asking questions, he was 
racing down the field in the blinding rain. 

The Spad was no sooner in the air than the 
motor began pounding. Bob realized that a piece 
of mud thrown up from the wet ground by the 
wheels had broken his propeller. The vibration 
was intense, but he kept the machine straight on 
its course, wondering how long it would be before 
the propeller flew into a thousand pieces. 

His landing light showed him the road along 
250 


251 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

which the limousine was traveling. With his 
wings skimming over the tops of houses he passed 
Souilly. On the other side of the town he saw 
an automobile and swept down to make sure that 
it was the car carrying Meyer. 

In an instant he flashed by it, turned, and came 
back. He pulled the trigger of his machine gun 



and saw the flaming tracer bullets leave their 
white trails through the night. 

The limousine lurched to one side and turned 
over on its back. As Bob circled around again, 
playing his landing light on the scene, he saw sol- 
diers running toward the wreck. There came a 
splintering sound, his motor raced madly — the 
propeller had broken. 

He looked down quickly and saw that he was 
headed for a clump of trees. There was no time 


252 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

to turn. He shut the motor off, headed the Spad 
between two large trees and braced himself for 
the shock. 

The wings ripped off and closed in around him. 
He felt the landing gear and fuselage crush as 
the machine hit the ground. There came a terrific 
shock, and then quietness. 

Pushing wings and broken framework away 
from him he climbed from the wreck. His body 
was bruised and sore, but he ran toward the auto- 
mobile as fast as he could. His heavy flying- 
clothes hampered him and he cast them off. 

He met soldiers running toward him. They had 
heard the aeroplane and, in a burst of lightning, 
had seen it come down. 

Without trying to explain the two accidents, he 
rushed past them. Someone had brought lanterns 
and as he approached he could see a crew of sol- 
diers lifting a heavy body. As he came up, they 
dragged the limp form of Meyer from the machine 
and laid it down beside the road. 

The young officer who was directing the men 
seized Bob and held a lantern to his face. He 
spoke rapidly in French, but Bob was too excited 
to understand him. 

Bob wrenched away from him and went to 
Meyer. It was Meyer, surely enough, and he was 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 253 


still breathing. Several soldiers took Bob by the 
arms and held him. He tried to explain that 
Meyer was a German spy for whom the Secret 
Service had been searching France and Spain, but 
his French failed him. 

The officer gave an order to one of his men, who 
disappeared and came back, presently, driving a 
small touring car. With the two soldiers still 
holding him, Bob was hurried into the car and they 
drove off toward Souilly. He was under arrest! 

The cool night air brought Bob’s senses back to 
him and he realized that it was quite as well his 
French had failed him. It was far better to ex- 
plain the affair to some higher officer at Head- 
quarters than to a lieutenant who simply happened 
along. His body ached unbearably and he be- 
gan to realize that he was a mass of cuts and 
bruises. 

The car drove into Souilly and stopped before 
the Headquarters of the Second Army. A guard 
was called and Bob was taken into one of the inner 
offices. A Captain appeared and to him Bob ex- 
plained that he was an American and would need 
an interpreter. Messengers scurried around and 
eventually came back with another Captain who 
could speak English. 

“Well, what is it V 9 he asked crossly. He had 


254 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

been dragged from his bed and he was in no happy 

mood. 

“I am an American pilot from Spad 98,” Bob 
explained. “I don’t want to say anything more 
until you get Captain Bonne down here. ’ 9 

A messenger was dispatched in a car for Cap- 
tain Bonne and, while they waited, the officers 
heard the young Lieutenant’s story. He had been 
in his quarters when he heard the sound of shoot- 
ing. He rushed out and found a limousine cap- 
sized beside the road. An aeroplane came over- 
head and then crashed in the trees not far away. 
He and his men had pulled two soldiers, both of 
them wounded by bullets, from the wreck, and 
then they had heard someone moaning inside the 
car. They lifted the body up and found another 
man — a civilian — inside. He was wounded and 
unconscious. 

Thorpe came rushing up and he arrested him. 
The wounded men, he said, were being taken to a 
hospital. 

“ You’d better telephone the hospital and tell 
them to put the civilian under guard,” suggested 
Bob. 

“Why?” asked the Captain. 

“I’d rather not say just now,” answered Bob. 
“And when Captain Bonne comes I don’t want to 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 255 

talk before tbis mob. This is serious business, 
Captain.’’ 

“ Humph, I should think so,” responded the 
Captain. He ordered the others from the room. 

Captain Bonne came in, exploding with excite- 
ment. 

“What in the world have you been doing?” he 
asked. 

Bob told his story while the two Captains lis- 
tened wide-eyed. 

“It’s over my head,” said Captain Bonne when 
he had finished. “Telegraph for Colonel Casale.” 

The other Captain was only too glad to have 
Captain Bonne take the responsibility of tele- 
graphing Colonel Casale, but he suggested that 
Bob be retained at Headquarters under guard 
until the Colonel arrived. 

“You’re crazy,” replied Captain Bonne frankly. 
“I’d as soon cut my hand off as leave Thorpe here 
under guard. He’s one of my best pilots.” 

They left Headquarters and climbed into Cap- 
tain Bonne’s car. Soon they were back at the bar- 
racks, where they found all the pilots up and wait- 
ing for the news. 

“Go on to bed,” Paulinier told them. “Bob 
doesn’t feel like talking.” 

To George, Bob told the full story of his ad- 


256 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

venture, and while lie undressed, Paulinier found 
the infirmier — the soldier who acts as nurse and 
keeps the medical supplies for the squadron. The 
man put ointment on the welts and bruises that 
covered Bob’s body and bandaged five cuts made 
by flying splinters of wood. 

Bob crawled stiffly into bed and spent the night 
dreaming of spies, automobiles, and wrecked aero- 
planes. The next morning he was glad to be awake 
and clear the dreams from his head. Every move- 
ment of his muscles made him wince with pain. 

“Emil,” he said, as the waiter came in with his 
breakfast, “the thing I want more than anything 
else in the world is a dish of fried eggs — fried on 
both sides. If you can get that for me I will be 
well before noon.” 

Fried eggs — fried on both sides — were a rarity 
in France. Eggs were scrambled, made into an 
omelette, boiled or cooked in a dozen other 
fashions, but never fried on both sides. Emil, 
wondering at strange American tastes, went to 
the kitchen immediately and cooked the eggs him- 
self. And Bob, as good as his word, was up and 
hobbling around the quarters before noon. 

The pilots had just finished lunch when Colonel 
Casale came charging up the road in a big car. 
He was out of the car before it stopped. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 257 


‘ 1 Come here quickly and tell me what it’s all 
about/ ’ he said when he saw Bob. 

Bob lamely followed him to the Captain’s office 
where they sat down and went over the events of 
the night before. 

“You’re absolutely positive that it is Meyer*?” 
asked Colonel Casale. 

“No doubt about it, sir,” replied Bob. 

The Colonel reached for the telephone and 
called up Headquarters. After a short conversa- 
tion he turned to Bob and said, “Our man is at 
the Vadelaincourt Hospital. Come along.” 

In his powerful car they covered the distance 
between Souilly and the hospital in less than ten 
minutes. At the office of the hospital they found 
a doctor who told them that Meyer was conscious. 

6 i He ’s in a bad way, ’ ’ said the doctor. ‘ 4 He will 
probably die. The other two men are all right — 
they will recover. ’ ’ 

They were led through a maze of long buildings 
to the ward where Meyer was lying. As they ap- 
proached his bed he opened his eyes — and he 
opened them wider when he saw Bob. 

“Were you the pilot who did it?” he asked 
weakly. 

“Yes,” answered Bob. 

“Nervy piece of work,” continued Meyer. He 


258 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

closed his eyes again and rested for a moment. 
“You’ve got me this time, all right.” Then his 
eyes rested on the Colonel and he said: “Hello 
there, old tomcat!” 

He was an amazing piece of coolness and in- 
solence, thought Bob, as he watched him breathing 
heavily and fighting death. 

Colonel Casale was not in the least annoyed at 
being called “tomcat.” He studied Meyer’s face 
carefully before he spoke. 

“How did you like the submarine trip from 
Spain to Germany?” he asked. 

“Not bad,” answered Meyer. “I’d rather 
travel in an aeroplane, though.” 

“And what happened to our man — the one 
whose place you took?” asked the Colonel. 

“He was captured and he made a confession to 
save his life,” said Meyer. “He told us about the 
aeroplane coming for him. They wanted to get 
me back here in France and so they made me take 
his place. I didn’t want to come. I’m sick of the 
business.” 

“What were you going to do here?” 

“Report on the American army. I was going 
to hop out of the limousine at Bar-le-Duc and go 
to Toul.” 

“How about making a full confession, Meyer?” 
asked the Colonel. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 259 


“I’ll confess if I don’t die,” replied Meyer 
coolly. “That is, I’ll tell yon all I know if you 
promise not to shoot me.” 

“I’ll agree to that,” said the Colonel. 

“But,” added Meyer, “I’m going to die and so 
what’s the use?” 

Meyer was becoming too weak to talk. Colonel 
Casale and Bob left his bed and went to the 
office. 

“Well, Thorpe,” he said, “I congratulate you 
and thank you. You probably saved a good many 
lives by your quick work last night.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Bob. 

After Colonel Casale had conferred with the 
doctor again they went into another ward and saw 
the two men who had been wounded by Bob’s 
machine-gun fire. The Colonel explained to them 
what had happened. They were still bewildered 
and surprised, but when they heard the reason 
for Bob’s attack they were inclined to take their 
wounds philosophically. “C’est la guerre — It’s 
war,” they remarked as they gravely shook hands 
with him. 

On the way back to Souilly, Colonel Casale sug- 
gested to Bob that he go to Paris with him. “You 
need a rest,” he said, “and you won’t be able to 
fly for a week or so anyway.” 

“George Morgan and I planned to spend our 


260 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

leaves together/ ’ replied Bob. “I think I’d 
rather wait until he can go.” 

“That’s all right,” said the Colonel. “We’ll 
take him along, too. I’ll fix it up with Captain 
Bonne.” 

That night, after another visit to Meyer, Colonel 
Casale and the boys headed for Paris. Meyer 
was sinking rapidly and had not been able to 
recognize them. Early the next morning when 
they pulled up before the Colonel’s office in Paris, 
they were met by the Colonel’s aide with the news 
that Meyer had died. 

“So much the better for him,” said the Colonel. 
He directed his driver to take the boys to their 
hotel. “Report here at my office tomorrow at 
three o’clock,” he said to Bob. “And bring 
Morgan along with you.” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Bob, wondering why he was 
to report. 

That evening they enjoyed a splendid dinner 
and went to the theater. Paris looked good to 
them, and they enjoyed every minute of it. It 
seemed years since they had lolled about in such 
comfort. 

The next afternoon, promptly at three o’clock, 
they reported at Colonel Casale ’s office. 

“Come in, boys, come in,” he said. “This is 
General Fernand.” 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 261 

The boys snapped to attention before the 
General. 

“ General,’ ’ continued Colonel Casale in French, 
“this is Sergeant Pilot Robert Thorpe and Ser- 
geant Pilot George Morgan.’ ’ 

The General shook hands with them and ad- 
dressed them in French. Colonel Casale trans- 
lated for them. 

“The General wishes to thank you both for the 
valuable services you have rendered. He wishes 
especially to thank you, Thorpe, for your cap- 
ture of Meyer. Under the circumstances it is not 
wise to make a public citation of your exploit and 
so, in awarding you another palm for your Croix 
de Guerre and the Military Medal, he has chosen 
to perform the ceremony here in my office.” 

Bob gasped with surprise. The Medaille Mili- 
taire! 

The General took up the slip of paper on which 
the citation was written and read it aloud. In- 
stead of a long, detailed account of the feat for 
which the medals were awarded the citation con- 
sisted of merely one line: “11 a toujours fait son 
devoir — He has always done his duty.” 

As Colonel Casale translated the words, the 
General pinned a new Croix de Guerre , bearing 
a palm, and the Military Medal on Bob’s coat. 



THE BAD WEATHER FLYING CLUB 

A gray, cold winter descended upon the front 
and kept the machines of Spad 98 on the ground 
for days at a time. An occasional sight of blue 
sky through some rift in the clouds sent hopes 
soaring, but usually the clouds closed together 
again and the interminable rain continued. 

Much against Captain Bonnet judgment, Bob, 
George, Paulinier, and Kernevez formed the “Bad 
Weather Flying Club.” They were tired of sit- 
ting about the barracks waiting for a change in 
the weather, and they determined to go up re- 
gardless of the low-hanging clouds. They knew 
that under the protection of the storm, the roads 
behind the German lines were filled with trucks 
transporting men and ammunition to the front, 
and they planned a systematic campaign of ma- 
chine gunning. 


263 


263 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

Captain Bonne did not approve of their plans, 
but he realized that they were impatient for action 
and he thought it best to slacken the reins a 
little and give them their own w r ay. “It’s all very 
well,” he said, “to shoot up the roads, but re- 
member this ; every one of you men is more valu- 
able to us than a whole train of German soldiers 
or ammunition delayed twenty-four hours. The 
trucks will reach their destination eventually, but 
if a motor fails or if some German is lucky enough 
to get one of you with a machine gun, France has 
lost a pilot forever.” 

They promised to use discretion and good judg- 
ment and at once began to pore over their maps, 
working out a plan of action. Sometimes, how- 
ever, the meetings of the “Bad Weather Flying 
Club” served simply to amuse them during the 
long winter days. Paulinier was president of the 
club, Bob vice-president, George was secretary 
and treasurer, and Kervenez was merely “mem- 
ber” — an exceedingly obstreperous and unruly 
member who was constantly threatening to over- 
throw the government. 

In one of his letters home Bob gave a report of 
a meeting of the “Bad Weather Flying Club.” 
“We had been sitting around all day reading and 
wishing that the rain would stop,” he said. 


264 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

“Paulinier decided that it was time to start some- 
thing and so he shouted, ‘ Meeting, meeting.’ We 
assembled in the mess room. 

“ ‘Meeting will come to order,’ said The Most 
Worthy President. Kernevez began to beat on 
the stove and shout to be recognized. 

“ ‘Well, what is it, Little Ape?’ asked Paulinier. 
“ ‘I move that we elect that most noble of 
pilots, Adjutant Kernevez, president of this club,’ 
said Kernevez. ‘All in favor say “Aye.” ’ 

“Of course, because we all howled him down he 
claimed that we had voted for him and he tried to 

push Paulinier out of 
the president’s chair. 
George made a mo- 
tion that Kernevez be 
fined one franc, and 
the motion was car- 
ried with a roar. I 
was going to say 
unanimously, but no 
motion is ever car- 
ried unanimously in 
the ‘ Bad Weather 
Flying Club’— if it is Kernevez ’s motion we all 
vote against it, and if one of us makes a motion 
it gets a loud ‘No’ from Kernevez. 



IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 265 


“ After being refused the presidency and being 
fined one franc, he again asked for the floor. 
Paulinier allowed him to speak on the condition 
that he would not act like a German officer enjoy- 
ing himself. Kernevez agreed and gave a most 
impassioned speech on justice. He has all the 
tricks of an orator down pat and he exaggerates 
just enough to be funny. His eyes flashed and 
rolled and his arms waved — each time coming a 
little closer to my face. I waited patiently while 
his hand whizzed by, nearer and nearer my nose. 
When he finally touched it I protested that I had 
been attacked by the member. Paulinier and I 
held Kernevez down on the table while George 
looked up the fine for striking the vice-president. 

“The fine was two francs. Kernevez protested 
that he didn ’t strike me and offered to show Pau- 
linier what he had done. If Paulinier had given 
him permission Kernezev would have sacrificed 
the two-franc fine by giving him a good bat on 
the ear. Paulinier has known ‘The Little Ape’ 
too long to be taken in by any such scheme as 
that and so he fined him another franc for speak- 
ing without permission. 

“ ‘We will now get to the business of the day,’ 
said Paulinier. ‘It has been reported to me that 
one of our comrades in Spad 98 (he looked se- 


266 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

verely at Kernevez) has received a package of 
food from home. He has failed to share the con- 
tents of said package with us. What is the fine, 
Adjutant Morgan V 

“ ‘Five francs,’ announced George. 

“ ‘I protest/ said Kernevez. 

“ ‘Five francs for selfishness and one franc for 
protesting without permission/ said Paulinier. 
‘What is it you would like to say, Brother Ker- 
nevez V 

“ ‘I protest against being fined, because I was 
over at the hangars when the package came and I 
haven’t even opened it yet.’ 

“ ‘In that case/ said Paulinier, ‘someone had 
better move that all the fines be remitted on con- 
dition that Brother Kernevez invites us to his 
room and opens the package. ’ 

“The motion was made and carried — Kernevez 
voting with the rest of us for the first time in his 
life. The meeting adjourned and we went to his 
room. Of course he claimed that the motion 
didn’t say that he had to give us any of the con- 
tents of the package, and he pretended to be very 
deeply hurt when we told him that he was mis- 
taken. We opened the package and found two suits 
of heavy underwear in it. Kernevez had known 
all the time that it was underwear and not food.” 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 267 

With such amusements, they managed to exist 
during the stormy weather. But when the rain 
ceased, the “Bad Weather Flying Club” met for 
business. The four pilots perfected their plans 
for machine-gunning the German roads. Bob 
and George were to cross the lines southwest of 
Montfaucon and follow the road to Dun, while 
Paulinier and Kernevez were to take the road 
that went along the bank of the Meuse to Dun. 
They intended to hover over the two roads, rais- 
ing havoc with the German traffic until their am- 
munition was exhausted. 

Captain Bonne was still dubious about the ex- 
pedition but, nevertheless, he gave orders to 
Roche that the Spads be rolled from the hangars 
and warmed up. There was no concrete run- 
way for the machines at Souilly and during rainy 
weather there was constant danger of breaking 
propellers, as Bob had done with the big Spad. 
In order to keep the wheels from throwing 
mud the tires were well scraped and oiled after 
the machines had been taxied to the starting- 
point. 

Paulinier and Kernevez took off first, and Bob 
and George followed close behind. They found 
the clouds at three hundred yards and flew just 
under them until they reached Verdun, then with 


268 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

a flip of his wings Bob turned westward. Pauli- 
nier continued along the Meuse. 

Taking his direction carefully, Bob pulled up 
into the clouds, with George following. Accord- 
ing to his reckoning they were just over the 
trenches when they emerged above the clouds and 
so, having crossed the lines with the least possible 
warning to the Germans of their approach, he 
turned down and came out near the ruins of 
Montfaucon. He saw the road ahead and ducked 
up into the clouds again. 

Their attack was all that the most hopeful pilot 
could have imagined. Crawling along the road 
were horse-drawn wagons, heavy trucks, and sev- 
eral bodies of troops. The boys swooped down 
with their machine guns crackling. Instantly the 
road was in chaos. Horses bolted, overturning 
wagons and blocking the road ; trucks ran into the 
ditches while the drivers leaped and sprinted for 
cover; and the troops disappeared as though by 
magic. With their motors roaring and their guns 
sprinkling hot blasts of bullets, the boys swept 
everything before them from Montfaucon to Dun. 
They returned along the same route and then went 
back again. 

Bob began following the Meuse northward and 
George, wondering what he intended doing, stayed 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 269 

close behind him. Presently they came upon the 
little town of Soulmory, where they found a Ger- 
man aviation field. Bob fairly chortled with de- 
light when he saw the brown hangars. 

Heading for them and turning slowly he raked 
them with his guns. German mechanics ran for 



their lives. The German pilots came out, think- 
ing that they might get into action, but they 
changed their minds when bullets spattered 
around them. Again and again the boys turned 
their guns on the hangars. 

From one of the hangars there came a cloud of 
smoke. They concentrated their bullets there and 


270 BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 

an explosion followed. Flames belched from the 
doors. The hangar became a raging fire, fed by the 
gasoline in the tanks of the machines. The wind 
carried the flames to the second hangar, while the 
boys perched above ready to turn their guns on 
any Germans who ventured out to fight the fire. 

Their stock of ammunition was getting too low 
to waste bullets, and so they circled about watch- 
ing their 4 ‘hundred thousand dollar bonfire,” as 
Bob called it. A dozen German aeroplanes and 
three hangars were lapped up by the flames. 

Their gasoline was getting low and Bob decided 
that it was time to think of going home. He 
pulled through the clouds and started south. Far 
behind them they saw six tiny specks — German 
machines called out to chase them away. Bob 
abruptly pulled his machine up and made a ren- 
versement. Another renversement headed him 
for Souilly again. While the German planes came 
nearer and nearer the two boys began an exhibi- 
tion of acrobatics in the sunlit spaces above the 
clouds — always keeping well ahead of their pur- 
suers. 

“We haven’t any bullets and we haven’t any 
gasoline,” said Bob to himself, “and so we might 
just as well give the square-heads a little show. ’ ’ 
He did a barrel turn and two retournments. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 271 


“Poor fellows don’t have much fun in life — might 
as well entertain ’em.” He flipped his machine 
over again. “The fools think they’re driving us 
away and they are only escorting us.” 

The Germans were close upon them when they 
ducked down through the clouds. They caught a 
glimpse of the trenches, pulled up and crossed the 
lines, then came down again and headed for 
Souilly. 

Paulinier and Kernevez were beginning to 
worry about them. Captain Bonne was on the 
field, making vows that the “Bad Weather Fly- 
ing Club” would confine itself to the humorous 
side of life in the future — no more pilots would 
risk their necks for the fun of it, he said. 

“There they are!” exclaimed Paulinier, as he 
heard the familiar song of the Hispano-Suiza 
motors. “Two of them.” 

“Where?” 

“I can’t see them yet,” he replied. 

“There they are — the crazy Indians,” said the 
Captain. 

Bob and George came toward the field, jumping 
their machines over trees and houses. Bob bore 
down on the people standing in front of the hangar 
and “zoomed” directly above them. Hats went 
sailing off in the gale from his propeller. 


272 


BOB THORPE, SKY FIGHTER 


They landed and taxied up, grinning. 

“You look happy,” said Paulinier. 

“We ought to be happy,” replied Bob. “We 
each put about six machines to our credit today . 9 ’ 

“What do you mean?” 

Bob told him about the “hundred thousand dol- 
lar bonfire.” 

“Great stuff!” shouted Paulinier. 

“Bravo!” shouted the Captain. 

“Vive la Bat Wetter Flyink Club,” shouted 
Kernevez. His mouth could never quite get 
around the English words. 

Captain Bonne was much better disposed 
toward the club after hearing the news. When 
the Colonel sent a special messenger bearing his 
compliments and congratulations the Captain be- 
came even enthusiastic about it. He gave the club 
permission to fly regardless of the weather. 

That night, however, while the pilots were at 
dinner the Bad Weather Flying Club came to the 
end of its existence. Captain Bonne and Lieuten- 
ant Robert entered the mess room. 

“I have some news for you,” said the Captain. 
“It is bad news and I think we should all share 
it together.” 

He began to open several papers that he held in 
his hand and the pilots wondered what the bad 
news might be. 


IN THE LAFAYETTE FLYING CORPS 273 


“I have orders here,” he continued, “to send 
our two American pilots to Paris immediately. 
They will report to the headquarters of the Ameri- 
can Air Service, where they will be commissioned 
with the rank of Captains in the American army. 
I have heard that it is the custom in America to 
give three long cheers for those who are leaving. 
Come on!” 

The “three long ones” made the roof of the 
barracks tremble and before the echoes had died 
away, Bob and George were giving “three long 
ones” in return — three lusty, full-lunged cheers 
for Spad 98. 





/ 


) 



Another book about Bob Thorpe and George 
Morgan will soon be published, telling of their 
adventures while fighting with the American Air 
Service on the Italian front. If you have enjoyed 
this book, you will want to read “Bob Thorpe, 
Sky Fighter, in Italy. ’ 7 


275 





